Night Must Fall
by katinki
Summary: COMPLETE. In a world of night, shadows known as the Volturi reign supreme. Their word is law, unquestioned and unchallenged. A doctoral student threatens exposure, and a Volturi Prince has been unleashed to silence her forever. AU.
1. Bathed in the Blood of Innocents

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I do not, but I like playing around with her characters.  
**

Two ladies made this fic a thousand times better. Scooterstale beta'd and BilliCullen pre-read for me.

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**Bathed in the Blood of Innocents**

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_Blood. _

Rivers of human blood.

Bright crimson, glistening wet, thick and sticky, it flowed across stone and mortar.

The scent of it coated his nostrils and flooded his long-petrified lungs. It smelled otherworldly, rich and spicy. It was luscious and purely primal in nature. It smelled delicious, and his mouth instinctively watered, dripping in long, clear strands of venom at the thought of sinking his teeth into soft, buttery human flesh.

His black eyes slid shut, seeing and feeling with his mind, imagining behind closed lids the texture and weight of pliable human muscle and sinew, so easy to break, to tear, to take. They, humans, were fodder, food for the strong, prey for the predator. They were a meal, sustenance, his right to steal. Their lives, young, old, woman or child, were nothing; their souls were for naught, and they were his to do with as he saw fit.

_You're not drinking today, brother_? a boyish voice called, silent to all but him.

His thoughts spun out, listening, cataloguing. The boy, Alec, was beyond the far wall, gorging himself yet again, not bothering to wait. Through borrowed scarlet eyes, he saw the prey, a young girl taken from the fields, no more than fourteen. Her skin was pale as fresh fallen snow, almost matching that of her killer. Against white flesh, spilt droplets of blood stood in stark contrast. She was stained, marred in her death.

"I will join you shortly, Alec," Edward replied. "Felix said that Heidi was already at the gate."

This day was the day of feasting, the day of celebration, both inside the parapets and beyond. Outside, the children were rejoicing out on the cobblestone streets, laughing and singing, wearing cheap plastic fangs and red-caped costumes. This was the day of St. Marcus, the patron saint of their city. It was his day, the day in which the human inhabitants commemorated the ridding of the _vampiri_. How little did they know. How little did they realize. For they, the vampires, lived like wolves amidst the sheep, walking the same streets.

While the humans paraded their gilded litters and floats in the mighty square, preparing for the midnight feast, the real feast was commencing inside the heavy stone bailey walls. Like cattle to slaughter, they were herded through ancient tunnels, lured by the promise of wonderment and beauty, of sights before unseen. They were a motley group; Edward could hear a half-dozen languages. All tourists, they blindly followed past thick, oaken doors.

Following their guide, a prop, or more aptly named, 'bait', the humans shuffled past his statue-like form, clicking off flashing bulbs and pointing wildly at boldly sewed tapestries and richly bejeweled adornments. Humans were such petty creatures, so easily amused and distracted. So easily could they be cajoled to their deaths. With her dazzling smile and a flip of curled, dark hair, Heidi had but to crook her finger and murmur, 'Come', and they would unthinkingly follow, ignorant and unable to devise a reason to decline.

_Incredible! Oh, God, the architecture! Dan would love this!_ a short blonde thought. British by her accent, still present, even in silent speech. Her lacquered nails skimmed along the limestone walls as she walked, completely oblivious and absorbed by their cultivated façade. Only when he was directly in her line of sight did she even notice his presence. As her gaze passed over him, her blue eyes widened and her lips fell into a small, surprised, 'O'. _What's _he_ doing down here? They're all so beautiful. Dark, but… beautiful, _she whispered.

Behind her, a balding man marveled,_ Regarde ces oeuvres d' art!_ _Parisian_, Edward assigned, bored with the man's enthusiasm and awe. The art, the antiques, the _guide_, they were but tricks, flashy, shiny objects to hide the horror.

In the rear, an elderly woman's cane tapped against rigid stone. Around her neck, resting against scratchy, gray polyester, she wore a heavy silver crucifix, its patina turned charcoal from age and air. Her silvery hair shimmered in the gas lamp light as her head swept back and forth, searching. Even without his particular gift for minds, her posture told him everything the small, disbelieving part of her was attempting to disregard.

Rheumy eyes stared back at his, fighting for comprehension. Wrinkled features transformed, widening and stretching, her brows climbing higher with each passing second. She understood that something was very wrong, that there was danger to the soul in this dark place. Despite the blurriness and fatigue of the body, she recognized him. This old woman saw through the charade and saw both his angelic countenance _and_ his demonic eyes. She understood that _he_ was not one of _them, human, _that he was other, _evil_.

_Diavolo!_ she accused, pointing a gnarled finger. _Dio, salvami…_

"Signora, andiamo! C'è così tanto da vedere!" Heidi purred, looping her slender arm through the old woman's. At contact, the woman started at the chill temperature. Her heartbeat leapt, and in the empty space of the tunnel, it echoed and pounded in his head. The wet thwacking of her blood, throbbing through weakened veins, was like a siren call, beckoning her death.

Heidi glanced over to him with a wink, swaying her tightly clothed hips seductively as she passed. _Edward, I didn't expect to see you. Have you come to greet me?_

"Heidi," he addressed, nodding his head formally before quickly looking away.

_I wish you would be more reasonable. _

His lips pursed and he shook his head once, signaling an unspoken, 'Not now'. Despite her wishes and wants, he felt nothing for her. But then, Edward felt nothing but complete indifference and apathy for them all.

Long minutes passed, and Edward stared at the tunnel walls, eyeing the long, jagged fractures, tracing the long-set boundaries of stone and eroded plaster. In the background, mental voices clamored, blurring with audible, resounding and combining into a single, massive roar. Inhaling, his senses recognized a thousand scents: tinges of fresh air from the minute ducts above, human perfumes and colognes, the sweet, almost cloying essence of vampire, and overwhelmingly, the aroma of spilling blood, pumping and pulsing. With each gurgle, heat scorched his throat.

_Are you joining us? _Alec called again. The high timbre of his voice denoted youth, but young he was not. His _brother_ was older than he, centuries old, but frozen and captured in adolescence until eternity's end. He perpetually wore the face of the amused.

It had been weeks since Edward had last fed. In the mirror of others' thoughts, he saw himself as the world saw him. His irises were glassy and coal-black, ringed by dark, purplish bruises. His cheeks, symmetrical and high, were gaunt, hungry. Like the rest of them, he was pale, more a cadaver than anything else. And like the dead, his skin was cold, ice-like, both in temperature and in feel.

But despite his starved-like appearance, to human eyes, he was more beautiful than any they'd seen. He'd heard it all before, of course, their wondering and trivial appraisals. Silently, Edward scoffed, recognizing the beauty for what it was, another prop, camouflage, a lure. As if he needed it.

When he walked into the solar, almost a dozen of his kind were feeding, sucking at necks and thighs and wrists, unaware of all else. As razor sharp vampire teeth ripped into flesh, sprays of red shot out, coating and painting the walls, and blood mingled in the air, saturating everything. Rivulets of dark crimson stained worn stone, running and flowing downward to low drains. The humans were so many that there was no thought or need to mind the waste.

At first breath, the fire in this throat exploded into uncontrollable, open, hot flames, licking up from the pit of his stomach to his tongue. Dying heartbeats called to him, jerking his feet forward and curling his hands into eagle-like talons.

Someone called his name.

_Here, take this one_, a sing-song soprano spat, throwing one of them into his arms.

Looking down, he found himself staring into bleary, tear-filled eyes, the same knowing eyes that had called him out for what he was. She was almost incoherent in her rambling, nearly driven to the brink of sanity by the sights before her eyes. _Demonio! _she wailed again, struggling against his iron body.

Edward gripped her spongy, frail arms, noting how thin she was in her age. A sack of bones and skin, the muscles of youth atrophied away. A lowly specimen, one whose blood was tainted by medicine and age. But he was too thirsty to refuse, too filled with the bloodlust of all those in the room. Their moans of ecstasy and their violent need was more than he could bear, more than his body could take.

"Sì, signora. Io sono il diavolo," he whispered, both to her and to himself.

"Per favore mi uccida in fretta. Non mi faccia soffrire," she cried, clutching her crucifix and mutely begging her God to save her. Realizing she was powerless against his inhuman strength, she stilled, clenched her eyes shut, and prayed the prayer of the condemned.

"Mi dispiace," Edward murmured, running his nose along her withered cheek. "Mi dispiace. Non soffrirà. Non sentirà nulla. Vada col suo Dio."

Gently, he lowered his mouth to her throat. As his cold lips touched flesh, she shuddered and whimpered in fear. Hearing her thumping heart and wheezing breaths, his body took over, and mindlessly, his teeth pressed through the translucent veil of flesh, cutting through ribbons of thin muscle, searching for vein.

_Gesù perdonami! Salva la mia anima!_ she sobbed. Thoughts of fire and hell filled her mind. She feared not him, but what lay in store. She feared her God.

Against her wrinkled skin, in the language of her Church, not of her tongue, Edward whispered, "Visita eam in salutari tuo… suorum remissionem et veniam clementer indulge; ut ejus anima in hora exitus sui te judicem propitiatum inveniat et… transire ad vitam mereatur perpetuam. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum."

In recognition of his most ancient of words and cadence, her body relaxed in his arms. Her eyes fluttered and her heart began to wane. In long, relentless pulls, he sucked the remaining lifeblood from her body, draining her of every drop, leaving but a dried husk of the woman she was. With each draught, the fire in his throat cooled, doused by the human succor.

As her heart quivered its last, he wordlessly continued_… remittat tibi omnipotens Deus omnes praesentis et futurae vitae paenas, Paradisi portas aperiat, et ad gaudia sempiterna perducat, Benedicat te omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus._

Hours later, sated and with eyes glowing bright crimson, Edward wandered the darkened halls, the hem of his black cloak sweeping tile. Through borrowed eyes and ears, he saw expressions of hatred and fear and bliss, and he _heard_ all of them. In his mind, they all called, human and non, screaming, laughing, crying. After more than a century of the same, it made him weary. Deep inside, he longed for some measure of peace and quiet.

But peace was not for him. For he was one of the chosen ones. Edward was the chosen of the chosen, one of three crown jewels in a collection. His _life_ was forfeit, a slave to the Masters of their world, the Volturi.

.

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**A/N: **A few items before we start...**  
**

- The title of this story was taken from the play, _Night Must Fall_, by Emlyn Williams (1935). While there are a few aspects to this story that might be comparable to the play, this isn't a play on a play. Reading the original will give you no help.

- This story is **AU**, more so than _Dark Games & Twisted Minds_. I'm keeping certain canon aspects and characteristics, but don't be alarmed or surprised if some things (a lot) have been altered.

**- Fair warning:** This fic is rated M for more than sexual content. There will be graphic violence. **People will die.**

- Lastly, I always love hearing from you. So please consider dropping me a line or two as you read.

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**Translations:  
**

**French** [Thank you to Ms. americnxidiot]:  
_Regarde ces oeuvres d' art!_ - Look at these works of art!

**Italian** [Thank you to Ms. Camilla10 for correcting my cruddy Italian]:  
_Diavolo! Dio, salvami…_ - Devil! God, save me…

_Signora, andiamo! C'è così tanto da vedere!_ – Madam, let's go! There is so much to see!

_Sì, signora. Io sono il diavolo_ – Yes, madam. I am the devil.

_Per favore mi uccida in fretta. Non mi faccia soffrire_ – Please, kill me quickly. Don't make me suffer.

_Mi dispiace. Non soffrirà. Non sentirà nulla. Vada col suo Dio_ – I'm sorry. You will not suffer. You will feel no pain. Go to your God.

_Gesù perdonami! Salva la mia anima! _– Jesus, forgive me. Save my soul!

**Latin** [Note: there are a few variations on the Catholic 'Last Rites'. The particular version from which I'm borrowing bits is from The Fisheaters]:  
Visit her in Thy saving mercy, and by the passion and death of Thy only-begotten Son, graciously grant to her forgiveness and pardon of all her sins that her soul in the hour of its leaving the earth may find Thee as a Judge appeased, and being washed from all stain in the Blood of Thy same Son may deserve to pass to everlasting life. Through the same Christ our Lord.

By the Sacred mysteries of man's redemption may almighty God remit to you all penalties of the present life and of the life to come: may He open to you the gates of paradise and lead you to joys everlasting. May almighty God bless you, Father and Son, and Holy Spirit.


	2. Bitten by the Tree of Knowledge

**Bitten by the Tree of Knowledge_  
_**

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"Bella!" a feminine voice urgently hissed. From across the quiet library, she whispered, "Where are you?"

"Over here," Bella answered, motioning with a free arm and lifting herself off the floor just enough to be seen over the line of cherry reading tables in the center of the room. "I'm over here, Angela."

Bella watched as her friend and roommate quickly crossed the checkerboard tile floor, her tattered tennis shoes squeaking with every step. When Angela reached the edge of the closest table, she carelessly threw her stack of books down and knelt to the floor beside her. "Jesus, Bells, what are you doing down here?"

With a sheepish smile, Bella tilted up the cover of the battered book she held in her lap.

_On the Nightmare [1]  
Ernest Jones_

"Bella? How old is that book?" Angela asked, clearly assessing the faded camel leather binding and yellowing pages.

Bella frowned, lips pursing slightly in defense. Creasing her brow, she quickly flipped to the inside pages, searching for the copyright. "Oh, not that old," she said, sniffing with exaggeration. "_Only_ nineteen thirty-one. And, I'll have you know, it has some very interesting commentary on medieval superstition."

Angela sighed, knowing better than to argue that everything in that book would be available online somewhere. She whispered, changing the subject, "Do you have any idea what time it is? You _know_ they close Butler at eleven. Must you insist on getting kicked out _every_ night?"

Bella's eyes fell to her wrist. With a groan, she apologized, "Sorry, Ang. I said I'd be at the cafe at nine, didn't I? I can't believe it's already ten forty-five. I, well, you know me. I was piecing through a few bibliographies, and I wanted to check a few texts myself." She grimaced and huffed. "Though the one I really want is in Rare Books and Manuscripts. But God, they lock up before five! Can you believe that?"

"Well, then, come on home now. You can come back here tomorrow. _Before_ five," Angela said, rolling her eyes but grinning. As she pulled Bella to her feet, she teased, "I'm certain that the undead will remain undead while you sleep a few hours."

With a muffled giggle, Bella relented and allowed her friend to drag her to the closest elevator. Ignoring the metallic creaks and sighs of the old pulleys as the elevator descended its five stories, Bella glanced over to Angela and asked, "Where's Ben anyway? Weren't you spending the night with him tonight?"

Angela's smile faltered for just a second, but still long enough for Bella to see the tinge of disappointment. Quickly recovering, Angela answered lightly, "Maybe tomorrow night. He said he had to spend some time with some old guy named Faraday, else he would look more like a student than the TA in his EE201 course."

"God, that's a load. Did he make less than an _A_ his entire undergrad career? And he remembers everything!" Bella laughed.

"I know!" Angela moaned in agreement, dramatically lifting the back of her hand to her forehead in mock distress. "He just can't _stand_ not having the answers to, like, everything!"

Bella clutched the book she'd picked up to her chest and grinned, seeing Angela's quick turn and appraisal over the top of her thin-framed lenses. "Don't start, Angela. Just don't go there. I know I'm just as bad. And so are you. So let's just laugh at your boyfriend."

With a quick shake of her head, Angela answered, her voice on the verge of laughter, "Okay fine. I won't say a word. Nope, not one word. But seriously, Bella, if I were in your shoes, I don't know how I could sleep at night, what with all the time you spend reading those horror stories."

Teasingly, Bella scoffed and answered formally, "Not horror stories, Ang. Let me remind you, I am an _anthropologist_. Or at least I will be if I can ever finish this damned dissertation. I study people, not literature. I read the stories to understand the people."

Angela snorted, "Yeah, yeah. I'd still be creeped out."

"Oh, like cutting open cadavers and harvesting organs to pick apart and study is less creepy?" Bella chuckled, raising her brows in query.

"You know what I mean!"

Thirty minutes later, Bella found herself walking into the relatively roomy ten-by-ten space of her bedroom. She still couldn't quite believe the luck they'd stumbled upon when they'd moved this last time. By New York standards, their apartment was huge and was in a decent neighborhood. Yet they paid the price of something half the size and a quarter of the neighborhood. She'd never met her lessor – an agent had handled the sub lease on the elderly Mrs. Alicia Barton's behalf – but she couldn't help but feel the nagging suspicion that once again, she was experiencing the unseen effects of her life left long ago.

In fact, she was almost certain of it. As she glanced around the room, taking in the subtle, elegant detailing of the crown, the light beige matte finish of the walls, the openness of the entire layout, the quality and timeless décor screamed Esme Cullen. It reminded her far too much of the Cullen home in Forks, a once happy and comfortable place that she hadn't visited in more than seven years. Of course, the seven year absence hadn't been by her choice.

While Bella would never admit the truth to anyone but herself, they – the Cullens – were the reason she was here. They were the reason for nearly every choice she'd made since they'd left, since her best friend had leapt through the window of her childhood bedroom and told her in the still of the night that their presence was too dangerous for her and that they would no longer be a part of her life.

For seven years, they'd been true to their word. Other than dubious good fortune in housing arrangements, scholarships, and unexpected grants, Bella had neither seen nor heard of them. And that wasn't for lack of her trying.

Because since they'd left, Bella had been hell-bent on finding _them, _despite their wishes to the contrary. Or, at least, on understanding them, understanding their history and their legacy. It was the only way she felt like the best two years of her life had been real, like all the fantastical things she'd experienced were fact and not fiction. Searching for them in human memory and history was the only link she had to that flickering bright spot of her adolescence.

While most thought she was off her rocker for studying vampires, of all things, it helped her remember and it made her feel nearer to what had been the closest thing to a family she'd ever had.

~.~.~

Two days had passed since the feast of St. Marcus. The square had been cleared, all remnants of festivity removed. In the open air, it was _almost_ quiet, the humans having long since retired to their beds. Unlike the waking hours, he felt some measure of relief from the constant bombardment of screaming thoughts. He supposed that while he could neither sleep nor dream, this was the closest he could come to it.

In their minds, he saw their dreams, flitting images of people and places, some pleasant, some not. A child was dreaming of a favorite toy. A young woman lovingly dreamt of the growing infant in her womb. And in an old, crumbling flat, riddled with mice and insects, an old, bedridden man imagined that he could walk again. Edward could _hear_ the joy and _feel_ the breath of wind across his face as he walked along side a wide stream, a memory of long-lost days.

Slowly, at a human pace, Edward strolled the city perimeter, taking reprieve from the oppressive depths and darkness of the ancient stone walls. Out here, the thoughts of his brothers and sisters – fellow guards – were quiet, too, just whispers if he didn't bother to listen. While they were all envious of his _talents_, most had not the capacity to understand the consequences of that which they coveted. Most could not comprehend the exhaustion and misery that came with hearing too much for too long.

The night air was slightly cooler than usual for the time of year, and he could feel light dew settling into the thick cotton of his shirt and even on his cold flesh. The damp air smelled of wet leaves and evergreen, marred by the scents of modern human existence. Pungent automobile exhaust, despite the lack of traffic at the late hour, hovered in a speckled cloud mere feet above the road bed, the black particulate and dust just discernable to his eyes.

Far above, it was almost clear, a deep, dark, blue-black sky with wide, fat beams of white moonlight shining down, illuminating the forest beyond the city walls. To human eyes, the world would appear almost gray, as if everything had been washed and color had been filtered out. But with his acute vision, he could still see as if it were day. Vibrant greens and rich mahoganies decorated the tree line, and hidden amongst the branches, he could see small and timid birds perched near their nests, awaiting his departure. Unlike humans, the wildlife were not fooled by their pretty wares and flashing smiles. The creatures of the forest knew him for the predator he was. Not that they had any reason to fear him.

As he rounded the city walls a second time, behind him, at a respectful and cautious distance, he heard another of his kind. Soft-spoken, both audibly and in his thoughts, Demetri was another of Aro's _acquisitions_. Gifted in a way not dissimilar to Edward, he was a tracker of the highest order. Minds, human and vampire, were like fingerprints to his, entirely individual and distinguishable from each other. Demetri could see them, could see the fine grain boundaries and curvature that marked individuals' thoughts. While he could not _hear_ as Edward did, once he'd seen the _print_, he could locate his target again no matter the distance or time away. Once Demetri latched on, there was no shaking him.

"Edward," he called, his voice velvety smooth and musical. While few could detect it, Edward could hear the hint of an ancient lilt, one not heard by the human world in millennia. In a time few remembered, he had been called Demetrios, a human soldier and, even then, a skilled tracker in the Grecian army. Like many of the _gifted_ guard, he had been turned by Aro himself the night before the battle at Corinth.

"Demetri," Edward answered quietly, knowing his voice would carry and be heard.

In no apparent hurry, the vampire approached, gliding silently across the pebbled path, seemingly at perfect peace with himself and his surroundings. He appeared to be no more than another man taking in the late night fresh air.

_Pleasant evening, isn't it?_ he greeted, crimson eyes flickering across the moonlit landscape. A ghost of a smile stretched across his face. _It must be easier for you out here. Away from all that nonsense_, Demetri continued, waving vaguely toward the city.

Edward smiled blandly and answered, "You could say that."

Edward's gaze trailed to the left. In the distance, he watched the subtle movements of a watchman atop the rampart lighting a cigarette. His eyes followed the path of unfurling smoke, watching as it drifted upward in a wending, translucent gray-white path. For a moment, they stood in silence. Were it not for the light breeze ruffling dark hair and darker clothing, they would appear motionless, as two marble statues.

"Aro wishes to speak with you," Demetri finally stated, voicing what Edward had already heard. There was no inflection or intonation, just a simple statement. The only image that accompanied his words was that of his master smiling and issuing the command.

"Thank you," Edward replied cordially, nodding in acknowledgment. "I don't suppose he mentioned the purpose?"

"No. My apologies, brother. He did not confide in me. He only asked that I fetch you."

Edward suppressed a sigh of both irritation and resignation. "Of course, Demetri. I understand."

As he turned, prepared to immediately answer his summons – knowing that to wait would be in poor judgment – Demetri chuckled and warned, _You might consider steering clear of the East Wing. Jane's on a tear. _

"When is she not?" Edward replied, sharing a brief moment of amusement, envisioning the pale-haired girl belligerent and ranting.

_Never. Regardless, I warned you. She even went after Alec this afternoon. When he blinded her in response, she almost lost it. _

Through Demetri's eyes and memory, he saw the dark-haired boy splayed out across the limestone floor, his angular face taut and his arms flailing wildly under sheer, mind-induced agony. A sadist in the extreme, Jane took nothing but delight in her gift. With but a glance, she could incapacitate the most violent and skilled attacker with excruciating pain, a pain akin to a thousand hot knives piercing and digging into flesh. A human would die under her stare.

Like Alec, by Edward's estimation, Jane had been turned too early and she had too much power. But his masters knew no bounds, adjusting their 'rules' as they saw fit in order to take what they wanted. Aro had coveted her and her witch-twin brother, and thus, it was so. She and Alec, like he, wore the blackest of cloaks.

Minutes later, Edward found himself walking down the dim tunnel to the solar, the same room he'd entered days before. By the thick oaken door, a woman, a human, stood behind a wide, ornate rosewood desk.

"Edward. Buona sera," Gianna welcomed politely. "Aro vi aspetta."

He'd never understood the humans that knowingly entered into their service. Despite hearing their thoughts, he could not comprehend how they could come to such a dangerous and surely life-ending decision. They – these humans – all romanticized the notion of immortality, of life without end. They turned a blind eye to the carnage, to the blatant violence and murder that occurred just on the other side of the stone wall. These servants viewed them – the vampires – as gods, and they hoped that by indenturing themselves, perhaps one day, they would be changed and granted place in the ranks of the guard.

Never had that actually occurred.

"Grazie," Edward answered, pushing through the doors, ignoring her mindless internal chatter. Like so many, she saw only his beauty. And stupidly, she held no fear of him.

Lit by chandelier, the room appeared warm, inviting almost. Gilded sconces glittered in the low light, and heavy, dark wooden chairs with intricate detailing and high backs decorated the far walls. Were it not for the images emblazoned in his mind, it would appear as nothing more than the opulent throne room of a long-dead medieval ruler. Though now scrubbed clean, he could still smell the faintest traces of human blood, the remaining evidence of the wanton bloodletting and gorging of _their_ feast.

"Edward!" Aro called out, rising from his seat atop the dais in the center of the room. With lithe and enthusiastic motion, he descended the steps, immediately targeting Edward. Reaching for his hand, Aro continued, "I'm so glad you were able to join us this evening. I have something very important I need to discuss with you."

_Master_, he thought, as the flesh of their palms connected. In forced deference, his eyes averted to the floor. He despised his subservience, his enslavement. He despised lowering his eyes.

Edward inhaled deeply through his nose, fighting the rolling shudder that threatened to climb up his spine as his own thoughts were bounced back to him from Aro's mind. Like Edward, Aro could _hear_. Their gifts were almost matching, like two sides to a coin. Where Edward could hear without touch and over distance, Aro required physical contact. But in exchange, Aro heard far more, hearing, at once, any and all thoughts for which he searched.

_You are weary, my son. _

_Yes, Master. I apologize for my thoughts. _

_You seek a reprieve? _Aro thought with a lifted brow.

Edward glanced up, taking in Aro's almost amused expression. His crimson eyes were milky and glowing, and his skin was chalky and thin in his age. Against his pale complexion, his long hair was almost as black as his garments. Dark as night and adorned with the signs of his rule, his robe trailed the floor.

Behind him, remaining on their lavish thrones, sat his other masters, Marcus and Caius, one looking on with indifference and the other wearing a sneer of impatience.

"Aro, get on with it," Caius spat, his shock of snow-white hair shaking with his vehemence. "Stop wasting time."

"A moment, dear Caius," Aro purred, smiling. "I'm having a chat with our Edward."

_I have a task for you. Two tasks actually._

Edward's eyes closed as his mind was flooded with images. A vampire with corn-silk hair appeared, dressed in the livery of centuries past, standing in the very spot in which he stood. The vampire's voice was a high tenor, musical in its Old English cadence. Immediately, Edward recognized him, having heard Aro's thoughts before.

_Carlisle Cullen. We are old friends, and I haven't seen him in so many years. The last I'd heard, he was in North America. And he's amassed quite a coven of his own, so I hear. Edward, I'd like you to visit him on our behalf – to pay him and his my regards. But, too, I'm very interested to see who has joined his coven. I want you... to inquire for me. And, of course, check in on a few of the others while you are visiting the continent. _

It was a strange request, especially being asked of Edward. While the Volturi often sent out guard members to assess other covens and ensure compliance with the law, it was rare that he be involved. Aro saw him as too valuable to send away for such work. There was more to this command; that much was clear.

_Of course, Master, _Edward replied, dipping his chin.

_That's not all, my son. There is another… person… I'd like you to locate for us. _

_Person, Master?_ Edward queried.

Aro smiled, his lips peeling back over his razor-sharp teeth._ A girl. A human. _

"A human?" Edward asked aloud, confused.

From the dais, Caius interrupted, "Yes, a human girl. We need you to find her for us."

Edward ducked his head lower as Aro continued, glaring daggers at the white-haired vampire. "This girl knows more than she should, I fear. I want to know why and how she came upon her knowledge."

Spitting with venomous derision, Caius interjected, "She knows far too much, Aro. Never mind the hows and whys. She is a danger to us all, and she must be eliminated."

.

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**A/N: **

[1] Jones, Ernest. "On the Nightmare," 1931.


	3. A Path of Obligation

**A Path of Obligation**

* * *

As he glided through the throng of waiting people, he glanced at the clock on the far wall. While there were but minutes before his departure, there was little rush; he knew he would make his flight. That had been arranged ahead of time.

To human eyes, walking across the crowded space, he was, perhaps, a wealthy entrepreneur, or maybe a young aristocrat. He moved with a certain surety and grace, like someone who knew exactly where he was going and why. His dark suit was exquisitely cut, tailored precisely for his lean frame, and the white collar of his oxford was rigid and heavily starched. In his hand, he carried a single bag, a supple leather duffel, elegantly sewn and crafted.

Amongst the olive skin and dark hair of the masses, with his pale-white complexion and riotous bronze hair, Edward was hard not to miss. But he'd learned long ago that hiding drew even more attention, attention of the unwanted variety. So, to avoid it, he feigned humanity; he pretended to be one of them. And as such, he was but a fleeting memory in their minds, the handsome and smooth stranger, the man they _wanted_ to see.

He laughed at the right moments and he tipped generously, all the while fluently speaking his thanks in their native tongue, but with the deliberate accent of an educated foreigner. When wandering eyes met his, if but for a brief moment, he flashed a gleaming, megawatt smile, distracting them from the blood-red color of his irises. Unwittingly, given enough time under his inspection, the human defense mechanism, some secret, deeply buried instinct, would kick in. Those traveling eyes would fall away, and their owner would quickly depart the danger he only subconsciously recognized.

Sometimes, meandering amongst them made him feel almost as though he were one of them, a confusing sensation of almost belonging. He could almost forget his ties and bindings. He could almost _be_ the person he projected. Yet other times, coursing through the overheated space and hearing the thwacking of their gurgling veins made him feel colder than he already was; it made him feel all the more foreign, all the more alien and alone.

As he approached a counter, Edward inventoried the woman behind it. Her thoughts were wandering and she was more focused on the explosive argument she'd had with her boyfriend the night before than she was on her job. She was young, attractive by human standards, with short, angularly cut dark hair and pale pink lips. For a moment, she didn't see him; instead she gazed listlessly at black-typed words on a dated computer screen. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she was considering leaving life as she knew it and starting over somewhere new. But Edward knew that she never would. Her mind betrayed her; she needed security and the feeling of being wanted.

"Scusi," Edward purred, his voice soft and sensual. He knew from experience that human women were particularly susceptible to the musical lilt of the vampire voice. Yet another of his traps, another diversion from peril, and this woman would surely fall prey. "Dov'è il check-in per il volo settecento ventuno?"

For a moment, the woman stared, dumbfounded and mouth agape. Her hands paused over the keys, almost as if she were frozen. He could hear the air in her lungs expelling in short, shallow pants, and her heartbeat had stepped up in time. Seemingly amused, he lifted his arched brows and smiled flirtatiously.

In acknowledgment of his attention and flirtation, a string of incoherencies rambled through her thoughts, all incredulous and disbelieving of her good fortune. "Il Check in è qui," she finally stuttered, her breath catching in her throat.

"Grazie al cielo! Ho appena perso…," he laughed, knowing the sound invariably put humans at ease. He kept his eyes down, looking up through his dark lashes; likely, she would see only coquetry rather than the scarlet of his irises.

As he knew it would, the attendant smiled in response and flushed at the attention. "Come si chiama? Posso vedere il suo passaporto?"

"Edward Masen," he said quietly, placing his passport on the counter and allowing his fingers to linger just a second longer than necessary.

"Signor Masen," the attendant mouthed, dumbly picking up his documents. Mutely, she was running through a dozen scenarios, all aimed at keeping him at the counter as long as possible. She murmured, "E' in viaggio per affari? O una vacanza?"

"Purtroppo per affari," Edward said with a disinterested wave of his hand. Acting his part, he furrowed his brows in disappointment, as if he didn't want their time to end. "Mi dispiace…Signora… Carolina? Vado di fretta…"

"Si! Certo!" she rushed, suddenly embarrassed. But a part of her delighted that he used her name, relished the way it sounded coming off his lips. She was distracted so much that she didn't even think as to how he knew it. And just as he'd predicted she would, she stamped all his documents to process straight through. "Presto! Ha solo dieci minuti fino alla partenza! Vada subito all'uscita numero ventinove!"

"Molte grazie," he said with a wink, scooping up his ticket and passport.

Twenty minutes later, Edward lowered the window shade to his left, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the two hundred and fifty-nine screaming voices and thoughts bouncing off the walls of the 767 aircraft, his prison for the next dozen hours.

~.~.~

It was night when Edward finally stepped off the plane and walked up the long jet way into the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. The noxious stench of burned aviation fuel and hot rubber was everywhere, filling his nostrils and lungs, overpowering almost everything else. The echoing rumble of thoughts and voices from the plane became a pounding, unrelenting roar as he suddenly heard hundreds more voices all at once. Mixed in were pattering heartbeats and wheezing, wet breaths, all calling to the dull fire in his throat.

Carlisle Cullen had not been difficult to locate. With but a few calls to a few of the nomadic members of his kind, Edward had easily determined the coven's rough location. After some years in northern Canada, they'd recently moved south to Kimball, Minnesota, a tiny town of less than seven hundred inhabitants, located just west of Minneapolis.

Unlike the nomads, the Cullen coven did not roam the country. Instead, they lived and interacted with humans, living in semi-permanent _homes_. It was a strange existence for his kind; so few would risk the exposure. Certainly, _his_ residency was permanent. But this _life_ of the Cullen coven was different. While for centuries, the Volturi had ruled from Volterra, a human city, they kept apart from the humans. After all, there was no need for interaction beyond sustenance and service. These vampires, however, lived _with_ humans. It was… _unnatural_. Yet from Aro's thoughts, Edward had gleaned that this coven was less than traditional.

Cool night air from the open windows whipped through his hair as his rental car sped down Highway 55 past lakes and streams and vast expanses of flat farmland. In those wide open spaces, long, lateral sprayers rained down sheets of fresh water on what would eventually be head-high cornfields. Every so often, beams of yellow light and the distant outline of a lumbering tractor caught his eye. All around, he could smell the pungent and revolting odor of freshly doused fertilizer, much of which was _organic_ in source. It was so flat and open, and it was almost silent.

Driving through town, Edward noted the scarcity of human life. The darkened panes in the mid-forties storefronts gleamed in the pale orange light of the few street lamps, reflecting back at him as he moved past. There were no cars, no open bars, no people perusing the sidewalks. The only signs of life were in his mind, brief flickers of thoughts. Here and there, a bleary-eyed husband was watching the late night replay of the afternoon's ballgame. Somewhere to the north, he heard the crying of a hungry infant.

It was a quiet, sleepy American town, a place where his kind would surely stand out. So when he reached the long, wending drive of the address he'd memorized, Edward was vaguely surprised at just how human they seemed to be from the outside. The only distinguishing factors were that at that late hour, all the lights were on in the windows, and that their home was larger and perhaps more sumptuous than those of the surrounding area.

While it was unnecessary, he slowed the vehicle to a crawl, purposefully giving the coven fair warning of his approach. It was a nicety, a courtesy, something purely done to show that he intended no malevolence. He knew that as soon as his tires hit gravel, they would know of his presence. But unlike most of his fellow guard members, he had no interest in intimidation, had no like of it. Felix and Jane were the worst, almost barbarians in their tactics, pushing and attacking with no provocation whatsoever. They enjoyed the conflict, enjoyed inflicting pain. Unlike them, Edward simply wanted to perform his commanded duty, knowing that there was no option otherwise, and be done with it,

As he stepped out beside the door, he was greeted by the sight of four vampires, two women and two men. At the forefront was a tall, lithe vampire, the very same from Aro's memory, complete with white-blond hair and angular features. His eyes were wary and uncomfortable, but there was a smile planted across his face. He looked welcoming, pleasant even. And the tenor of his thoughts echoed Edward's assessment – further proof that this vampire was indeed the same Carlisle Cullen.

Immediately behind him was a large, burly male, one who could easily rival Felix in size and strength. His body was angled defensively, ready to crouch into attack position at a moment's notice. Thick, rippling cords of muscle flexed and twisted along his forearms. For all his strength and positioning, however, his thoughts gave away his character. Like Carlisle, this dark-haired vampire was almost gentle. His stance was purely that of protection and of fear. In his mind, Edward heard the word 'family' and then, a dozen questions seemingly hurled out at once.

_Never seen him before… Doesn't look like he means harm… but I don't like the look of him… Who is he? Is he a nomad? He's too polished, too… confident…, _the large one thought, taking in Edward's starched and tailored appearance.

Behind both of the males were their mates, clearly apparent from their thoughts. Carlisle's mate was yet another gentle creature, a slender woman with long, caramel-colored curls and almost soft features. Like her mate, she wore a sincere, hospitable smile, and her thoughts were those of welcome. As she appraised him, however, her brows knitted together in concern. _His eyes are so red… I hope he hasn't fed… at least not nearby…_

The other female was a different entity altogether. She was tall, golden-haired and curvaceous, almost ethereal even by their standards. But by her thoughts and her demeanor, she was haughty and arrogant, self-centered. Despite that, however, the thread of 'family' and concern for them spun through her mind. There was a softer, albeit protective, side to her as well.

_Is he… Volturi? He has to be. Carlisle seems to recognize him… What does he want? Have we done something wrong? _the tall blonde thought.

Edward quickly understood how this coven managed to hide in such plain sight. Coupled with their near perfect approximation of human mannerisms, their eyes glowed an almost honeyed-amber, very unlike the dark crimson of his own. Edward had seen the odd color in Aro's memory and had heard the explanation. But disbelieving, he had thrown it off as happenstance and rumor. Yet with four sets of such eyes staring back at him expectantly, he knew the memory to be truth. To imagine drinking from animals, bear and deer and such, was disgusting and borderline insanity. They denied the most basic tenets of their vampiric nature. They turned their backs on their own position in the natural hierarchy.

"Welcome to our home," Carlisle said in a measured voice, stepping forward. "I'm Carlisle. This is my wife, Esme." Motioning to the larger male, he continued his introduction. "And this is Emmett. And his wife, Rosalie. Would you care to come inside?"

Edward mimicked the motion, nodding respectfully and cordially. Extending his hand, he carefully replied, "Thank you, Carlisle, for your warm reception. I'm Edward."

Carlisle's brows climbed up his forehead in acknowledgment. Like most, he recognized the names of the more prominent members of the guard. Revealing his anxiety, in a very human gesture, he swallowed, as he took the proffered hand. "Ah, from Volterra, then?"

"Indeed," Edward answered, smiling reassuringly. But he understood the fear that the Volturi elicited. It was rare for a visit from the guard not to be accompanied by violence. A barrage of panicked thoughts hit his mind. "But please, don't be alarmed, Carlisle. You have nothing to fear from me. I'm here only as a courtesy and to catch up. I'm visiting the continent, and Aro asked that I drop by. He sends his warmest regards."

Four pairs of shoulders visibly relaxed as they made their way inside. As Edward walked through the foyer, it was impossible to not compare this _home_ to the tunnels and thick, stone walls of Volterra. Where his world was dominated by darkness, here, the walls were light, airy almost. It was a contrast in the extreme.

For the next hour, sitting on pale, beige sofas and chairs, they spoke, the Cullens detailing their moves and history. It was light, conversational discussion, almost as though old friends were catching up on old times. While outwardly their tones were calm and collected, small signals showed their apprehension. Esme twiddled the hem of her skirt, and Rosalie picked at the ends of her curls. Emmett was more obvious; his muscles were still taut and ready to spring, having never relented. Equally, their minds were a maze of worrisome fears, and the longer he stayed, the more it became apparent that they all were trying not to think of someone or some _ones_. For Edward, it was becoming tiresome. He was not accustomed to such circuitous and trivial discussion with his kind, all in the name of civility.

"There are two more who live here, yes?" Edward asked quietly, turning the conversation. This was what he'd been sent to observe, to discover. Or at least part of it.

The moment he had walked through the door, Edward knew why Aro had sent him. In their minds, he had seen the images, and he could smell the vampire scents floating in the air, coating every surface. Mixed in with scents of almond, jasmine, cardamom, and citrus – scents of those present – there were others, fresh and clear, that were not. "They left not too long before I arrived." It was a statement rather than question.

"Yes," Carlisle answered, looking away. His thoughts were troubled, trying desperately to focus on anything but the question at hand. _Yes, Carlisle knows of my talent_, Edward mused. _Strange, he hasn't addressed me by it. _

"Don't bother trying to hide them, Carlisle. You obviously know of my gifts. I will find out anyway. Just as I said, we are merely curious. And I spoke the truth when I assured you before that I mean you no harm. You have done nothing that I can see that warrants intervention."

Edward steepled his fingers and shifted in his chair to face the others. "Now, who's missing?"

_Alice. _

_Jasper._

"Alice and Jasper," he stated, watching their eyes widen in fear at having witnessed his mind reading first hand. "Why did they leave?"

"We don't know, Edward," Esme answered softly, glancing down at her lap and tugging at fabric. "They didn't say."

"Five hours ago?" he estimated by the strength of the scents remaining.

Carlisle looked back and met his eyes, amber to crimson. "Approximately, yes. Why do you search for them?"

"I don't. I would have liked to have met them. I'm intrigued that they seemed to have vanished just on the eve of my arrival. It's coincidental. Did anyone receive a call?"

At that moment, at that particular query, he was granted his answer. He saw image after image of a small, thin vampire with short, inky black hair, her brows angled in concentration as her fists gripped the back of the very sofa he occupied. _Alice. _Golden eyes stared off into space in some disconnected reverie, seeing sights unseen and hearing sounds unheard. Her lips trembled and she spoke in vague descriptions of yet-to-have-happened events. Beside her was her mate, Jasper by name. Where she was petite and almost fragile in appearance, he was tall and lean, almost as if cut from rock. Light glittered off a thousand crescent-shaped scars littering his skin. And in his eyes, Edward saw knowledge and experience. But he also saw understanding, and through the memories of this coven he saw his gift.

"So, you have a future teller and an empath. I can perhaps see why you would not want to share that information. Especially with me."

_The Volturi collect, _the blonde snapped mutely, likely without intention.

Edward's brow raised, but he made no effort to argue. It was true, and no doubt, the moment Aro heard of these additions to Carlisle's coven, he would scheme and find a way to lure them to Volterra to add them to his chest of treasures. Or worse, Aro would come take them himself. Those acquisitions were never without violence. But Aro could never resist the potential to command this Alice if the thoughts he'd heard were truly accurate. Part of him wanted to forget what he'd learned, allow this harmless coven to go on in their gentle existence. But it was a pointless desire; Edward had a task to perform, an obligation to his masters.

"They did not tell you where they were going? Or if they would return?"

"No," Carlisle answered, his eyes pleading. "They went hunting and never returned."

"I see. Do you have any suspicions or ideas as to why they would depart so swiftly? Without telling you? Why they would not want to be here when I arrived? Other than the obvious? Do they know something I should know?" Edward demanded, an edge surfacing in his cool façade.

Silence erupted in the room. But their thoughts were frantic, screaming almost, flipping through complex mathematical algorithms and multilingual translations, all in efforts to hide.

Edward stilled in the way only vampires could, staring directly at Carlisle. "Please, Carlisle, don't make me ask again. I like you. I do not want to escalate this any more than necessary. But I have a job to do," he warned.

To his left, a single, frightened voice faltered, fumbling under the intensity of his scrutiny.

_Bella._

.

.

* * *

**A/N:  
**

Again, thank you to Ms. Camilla10 for helping fix my pitiable Italian. Verbs are not my thing ;)

_Scusi. Dov'è il check-in per il volo settecento ventuno?_ – Excuse me. Where's the check in for flight 712?

_Il Check in è qui_ – It's here.

_Grazie al cielo! __Ho appena perso_ – Thank goodness! I thought I was lost.

_Come si chiama? Posso vedere il suo passaporto?_ – What's your name? May I see your passport.

_E' in viaggio per affari__? O una vacanza?_ – Are you traveling for business? Or on vacation?

_Purtroppo per affair. Mi dispiace…Signora… Carolina? Vado di fretta_ – Unfortunately, for business. I'm sorry… Ms. Carolina? I'm in a hurry.

_Si! Certo! Presto! Ha solo dieci minuti fino alla partenza! Vada subito all'uscita numero ventinove!_ – Yes! Certainly. Hurry. You only have 10 minutes until departure. Go to gate number 29!

_Molte grazie_ – Thank you very much.


	4. Hidden Amongst Gray Mountains

**Hidden Amongst Gray Mountains**

* * *

"Bella," he repeated aloud, as he sped down the highway. "Isabella Swan."

Dark, mahogany hair with equally dark eyes, her image was clear and vivid in his mind. Her eyes, an unexpected amber-flecked russet brown, were liquid and alive, and they held a depth that gave away wisdom beyond her few years. Through borrowed vampire eyes, with absolute clarity, he could see a slender, heart-shaped face, an animated face – almost as pale as his – that wore a world of expressions. This girl was soft and warm and exceedingly fragrant. Her scent was truly otherworldly, delectable even; just the memory of it drew venom. But strangely enough, these Cullens held nothing but familiar affection for this small human. Implausibly, this _human _girl had meant – still meant – something very special to this coven, enough that they'd risked their immortality.

Regardless of emotional ties to this pet of theirs, it had taken little effort to break them. As it always was, their treachery had been purely involuntary, their unconscious thoughts betraying them against their will with but a few simple yet pointed prods. The Cullens' reaction had been no different than those of countless others who had suffered the misfortune of being questioned by him; so few had the mental wherewithal and experience in dealing with gifts such as Edward's to effectively hide. When pressed, vampire and human thoughts alike always scattered, always deviated from intention. It was merely a matter of time and of asking just the right question with just the right intonation and inflection. Given that, they all broke down eventually. But astonishingly, with this group, with each slip they cursed themselves with a self-loathing that he'd never seen before. Their guilt was tangible, a thick, suffocating fog.

But despite the relative ease of his inquisition, their lack of specific and current information was irritating. Edward had been both surprised and impressed at the forethought that had gone into their attempted ruse. None of them had any information beyond the minute two-year period of time in which the girl had been so heavily entangled in their lives. Recent information concerning the girl, which was far more relevant to his pursuit, rested solely in the mind of one of their missing members, the only one who could have foreseen the need to keep that information to herself.

What none of them understood, however, was that he needed neither Alice nor her memories. He already had a general idea of where Isabella Swan was located, as he'd known her name before he had even set foot on the continent. It merely made his job far more intriguing now that he recognized that his masters' directives were so intricately woven together; everything centered on the Cullens. As such, it wasn't so surprising that Aro and Caius had sent him in particular to expose their secrets – all of them.

He debated chasing down this Alice and Jasper, but after only brief deliberation, Edward understood that that type of trek could go on indefinitely considering their talents. And the Cullens themselves could wait, too; he could report his findings back later. If Aro deemed it necessary, he could dispatch the other guards. After all, the Volturi had all the time in the world in which to decide how to deal with them. The girl, however, was a more pressing matter. Coupling what little he'd learned from Aro's source with this new situation with the Cullens, Edward ventured that Isabella Swan possessed far more knowledge about their world than any unbound human should, far more than Aro realized; she could expose them at any moment.

After a short phone call, clipped tones, and a sizable fee, Edward's name was added to the first available flight out of Minneapolis-St. Paul. Patiently waiting the morning hours, he drove around the city, not caring where he went, taking in the darkened, shadowy buildings and the damp, crack-riddled streets. Even miles away from the source, his senses picked up the subtle stench of mud and earthen decay from the nearby Mississippi mixing with days-old garbage and seeping city sewer lines. The pungent odors hung in the air like moist, gray fog.

In a particularly dark and seedy section, buried somewhere in the north part of town, he heard two shots ring out, loud and clapping in quiet of the night, and then he heard the voices of men shouting and cursing. As he slowed the car and pulled to the curb, silent thoughts echoed in his ears, singing with violence and malevolence. Two blocks away, the human murderers were celebrating their rampage, rejoicing that some enemy of their paltry gang had been taken down and destroyed. This was not a 'good' area of town. Yet it held no fear for Edward. If anything, it pleased him.

Edward debated his thirst, now a dull blaze creeping along his throat. While his irises were still colored, they were already darkening to a deep burgundy, rimmed by black. These men would be an easy meal, effortless to kill and without need to conceal. He knew that were he to drink these thugs, none would even notice the loss.

But just as he was exiting the car, decision made, another voice rapped for his attention. Where the two murderers he'd targeted were immoral and wicked, this gurgling, wheezing voice defiled even the vilest of the soulless and depraved.

_Look at this one… So young and so innocent… Cocktease… God, those fucking lips, look at them, all red and pouty… It's like she's begging me for it. I'll give her something all right… I'm going to enjoy fucking that little mouth… Teach her a lesson… She won't be able to scream that way… Then, I'll show her how a real man fucks… She might even enjoy it…_

The face of a young human girl entered his vision, blurred through drunken human eyes. But the image was clear enough. No more than fourteen, a frail, nearly-starving girl with matted blonde hair and gangly, too-thin legs stood cowering before this man, her bony back pressed into a brickwork corner of an abandoned service street.

_Mama, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I ran away. I love you_, she cried over and over, her mind nearly broken with terror. Like the chased animal caught in the glare of the spotlight, she was frozen, stock still and trembling. She _knew_ that she would die this evening.

The man's imaginings turned more violent still as he envisioned forcing the pitiable child in her tattered and threadbare clothing to her knees and pushing himself into her mouth until she gagged. That was what he wanted, the cries of pain and of fear. He craved the power of the attack, the pressing of his will upon a lesser being. There was nothing sexual there, only demented power and cruel sadism.

An unexpected wave of anger shot down Edward's spine. "Deplorable," he spat, crouching and starting his approach. By Edward's estimation, there was no forgiveness for this man's sins.

Some, he knew, would liken this villain's molestation to his own vampiric feeding. They would argue that there was no difference, that murder was murder. But in Edward's mind, they were wrong. He fed because it was in his nature, predator to prey, the natural hierarchy and food chain. But there was no excuse for this, in finding pleasure in pain and in torment, in the needless and senseless infliction of humiliation and agony. There was nothing redeemable in a man who would torture and rape a weak and fragile child.

As he stepped into the mouth of the alley, Edward could hear the girl's sobbing whimpers and cries, begging the fiend to desist. The man, wholly focused on his victim, didn't even bother to look around to see if anyone heard her screams. He yelled at the girl in a stream of barely coherent epithets and slurs as he pressed down on her rigid shoulders, trying to push her to the ground.

"If I were you, I think I'd stop what you are doing," Edward purred in a voice that was a mixture of sensual velvet and promised death. At a deliberate, human pace, he stepped forward into a dim circle of light directly underneath a flickering streetlamp.

Startled, the man spun on his heel, shoving the girl away with enough force that she stumbled against the brick wall. His jaw slackened and his glassy eyes shot open as he dumbly assessed the suit-clad man in front of him. _Who the fuck?_ he cursed silently.

"It doesn't matter who I am," Edward quietly answered, smiling. While his expression remained cordial, polite even, his voice suddenly transformed, becoming hard and laced with cold menace. "You won't be living long enough to tell anyone."

When Edward began walking toward him, the man's heart rate picked up in time. His subconscious dizzily processed Edward's words and more so, the normally subtle signs – the piercing eyes, the bone-white complexion, the fluid gait – that now screamed _inhuman_. Sharp breathless pants expelled from the man's blackened lungs, the stench of his smoke and alcohol-laden breath rolling across the decreasing distance between them.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'll fucking kill you," the man growled, shaking a calloused fist decorated with purple bruises and angry red cuts in feigned threat. Edward noted, even more disgusted than before, that this girl would have been but the latest of many victims.

Impatient and now furious, Edward shot across the final ten paces between them in a whir of vampire speed and strength. Before the man could even blink, white, ice-cold fingers gripped his neck and lifted him up, his scuffed boots dangling, toeing the asphalt.

"Try," he whispered through clenched teeth, his chilled breath washing across the man's bare neck. The man's body shuddered beneath him and his skin pebbled and quivered. Inside his palm, Edward felt the thundering pulse of his jugular beating out a distorted, disharmonic rhythm. "You pathetic excuse for human life, try attacking _me_ instead of that child. See how you fare against a _real_ killer."

The man's answering moan was loud and keening as his lungs constricted and fought against the tightening grip of Edward's hand. His eyes rolled back in his head and his mind warbled out weak and plaintive cries. His arms flailed uselessly, no more than a fly landing on Edward's steel muscles.

"I'm sorry!" he shrieked, gasping for air. "Let me go! Please, God, let me go! I'll leave her alone! I won't touch another fucking girl ever again! Please! Forgive me!"

"God has no mercy for you," Edward snapped. Saying no more, he jerked the man down and pressed his teeth into the thick, salty hide beneath his jaw. Not waiting for his heart to do the work, Edward sucked in long, hard pulls.

As the first drop passed across his tongue, the fire in his throat leapt to life, searching and seeking its quench. He could taste the sickening flavors of alcohol and methamphetamines; they tasted stale and cloying, too sweet, too saccharine. They marred the blood, destroying the human essence. But it would do, would sate him and douse his thirst. In mere minutes, he was drained dry, and without so much as a glance, Edward broke the man's neck to camouflage the wounds and then tossed him inside a nearby dumpster.

When he turned back around, Edward's now-blazing red eyes sought out the trembling child.

"Can you walk?" he asked, careful to maintain distance, sensing from her garbled thoughts that she had no rational theory of his nature other than the terrified notion that her attacker had been replaced by another. Wide, numb eyes stared back at him. When he glanced down, he saw the trickle of pungent fluid trailing down her bare legs and he heard her breathing catch and start and then catch again.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Edward soothed, softening his voice to a low, musical lilt. But before he stepped forward again, the girl wobbled and crumpled before him. With a sigh and rake of his hand through his hair, he pulled out a slim, modern cellular phone. Within five minutes, distant, spinning blue lights flashed and reflected off of the tinted windshield of his rental as he drove away.

Two hours later, at thirty thousand feet, Edward closed his eyes to wait. In his mind, a heart-shaped face decorated by bold, dark eyes and a soft pink smile stared back at him.

"Isabella Swan," he whispered. "A shame."

~.~.~

She lifted her face to greet the morning sun. Behind closed lids, the soft red glow of sunlight through translucent flesh flooded her vision, leaving her with nothing but comforting, balmy, blind color. It was warm, inviting, drawing her toward an almost dream-like state. And the heat, the hot bolts of sunlight raining down, was sublime; it radiated, spreading across her skin, warming her deep down, to her very bones.

When she inhaled, the scent of the city, the near omnipresent mixture of people, machines, and waste, had been replaced. Instead, she smelled the bittersweet scent of the cut grass beneath her, the floral perfume of spring flowers floating on the breeze, and there was just a hint of dry, dusty earth coming from the jog path to her right.

It felt like it had been years since she'd seen last seen blue sky and white clouds. For months, Bella had exiled herself to the school's library, living like a hermit on soda and granola, only stepping outside once the skies had gone black. She knew that building better than the librarians themselves. She'd searched it high and low, looking for what could only be described as disconnected and strewn scraps of information and history.

But today was different. Today was a reward, a self-promised moment of respite, a break from serif type, aged, oily pages, and hours spent clacking on worn keys. She'd allowed her self this – just a few quiet hours in the park, watching the bicyclists speed by and the old women with lavender scarves on their heads gossip and chat on the nearby benches. She needed the break; her head had been swimming for weeks, filled with snippets of old European folklore and blurred images of reprinted Italianate paintings.

At first, when Bella had started her exploration into the world of vampire mythology, information had been disjointed and scattered, none of it fitting beyond that of the simple, overlying theme of blood drinking demons and terrorized villages. There were no signs of the sophisticated vampires _she_ knew. Determined for those first months, she had scrounged and picked through anything she could find, using whatever source was available. She'd skimmed dated microfiche, translated news articles, and nearly crashed search engines.

Intuitively, however, she knew better. Those she searched were too careful and would not be found in electronic records. So most of her time had been spent nose deep in ancient tomes, searching for hard evidence of the hints that the Cullens had left, mentions of things that had accidentally slipped out, things they had not wanted her to know. In the beginning, none of it had seemed connected, but Bella had been certain that there had to be more, that there had to be an entire world hidden from humans. While she felt it through and through, for months she had lived on faith alone. That was, however, until the night she'd stumbled upon a handful of deeply buried paragraphs in an almost never read text. And then she had a name, a central tie – Volterra.

From there, it had been like dominoes, pieces of data almost falling into her lap. And then, three nights past, in an obscure text on post-Renaissance art, she'd discovered something big, something bold and telling. Bella found the link to _her_ vampires that she had been chasing. She'd found Carlisle.

The liveried man in the Solimena painting was Carlisle Cullen as surely as she knew her own name. While the pale complexion and flaxen hair was an almost certainty, there was no mistaking his angular features and goldenrod eyes. Beneath the image, in flowing, handwritten script, it simply read, _Stregone Benefico, Volterra, 1691_.

"Stregone Benefico," Bella whispered softly under her breath, testing the words on her tongue.

Bella lay back on the lawn, relaxing and smiling up at the sky, ecstatic that she'd finally found something. There was still so much, so many more steps, but it was the link she needed. The one frustration she had was that she still had to pretend to be interested in her thesis and had to at least go through the motions. She didn't give a damn about the wide-ranging societal and religious implications of vampire mythology in Old Europe. But she did give a damn about knowing why they had left her.

The sounds of children playing and of turning metal wheels faded to a dull, soothing hum as a warm spring breeze washed across the bare skin of her face and arms, lulling her toward unconsciousness. For a moment, time seemed to cease; it was just her, sun soaked warmth, and the tickle of prickly blades of grass. Just when she was on the cusp of sleep, however, a subtle buzz in her pocket jolted her back to coherency.

Without bothering to check the i.d., she stammered out a drowsy, "Hello?"

"Bells?" an easy-going baritone greeted. She could hear the smile on his face.

She grinned in response, rubbing her face awake. "Charlie! Hey, how are you?"

It had been months since Bella had seen her father, the last time being when she'd flown back to Washington for Christmas. Right after high school, she had left for Chicago to pursue her Bachelors. At the time, the wounds from losing the Cullens – particularly, Alice – had still been fresh, and she had just wanted to escape the tiny, waterlogged town. During those four years, the only ties she had with Forks were two fleeting visits in winter and summer. And now that she was in New York, between her thesis research and her real research, those visits had been pared back to only once per year.

"How's life in the big city?" he asked, knowing her answer but adhering to familiar ritual. "You're still locking your door, right?"

"Same as usual, dad," she answered. "You know, shootings around every street corner, Angela's joined a gang, Ben's in Sing Sing. Nothing much."

"Bella, I'll never understand how you can stand living in those cities. Just not right. Not safe," he huffed.

"Come on, Dad. You know I'm just joking," she laughed.

"We're really fine. Our apartment is in a pretty quiet area near campus – there's even a cop down the hall from us. And it's not like we're out partying. About the closest I get is the occasional mic night at the café down the block. I guess I've been spending too much time in Butler – at least Ang keeps saying that. She drags me out of there probably four nights a week. So, yeah, not a lot can go wrong in a library.

"How about you?" Bella continued. "Been out on the lake with Harry lately?"

"Yeah, we're actually heading out tomorrow for a couple of days. That's why I'm calling. I didn't want you worrying if you tried and couldn't get my cell phone. I'll be back early next week though."

Bella chuckled, understanding that there was more to her father's call than he let on. While they had an amicable relationship – especially now that she was across the country – theirs had not been the close, verbal relationship that most fathers and daughters shared. When she'd arrived in Forks at just barely seventeen, the police force there had been short-handed, meaning long hours for its Chief. But more so, throughout her childhood, they had just never been that close; they had just not spent the time together. Of course she knew that her father loved her, but Charlie wasn't one to express his emotions or really to talk at all. And growing up, she had been shy and uncomfortable in her own skin. Moving in didn't really change any of that.

A faint beep pulsed through the phone, signaling another incoming call. Considering her limited list, she assumed it was just Angela, likely reminding her that they were supposed to meet for dinner.

"Gotcha. Good luck, okay? I hope you beat Harry this time," she replied, still smiling. "Tell him I said hello. I have another call coming in, so I need to run. Call me when you get back?"

He answered with his own laugh. "Will do, Bells." More gruffly, he continued, rushing, "Don't talk to any crazies. You can't tell me they aren't everywhere. And I, well, I love you, girl."

"Love you, too, Dad," she answered softly before pulling the phone away to check the i.d.

_Unknown  
__555-555-1979_

"Strange," she muttered, not recognizing the number.

"Hello?" she answered wearily.

A singsong soprano quietly returned. "Bella?"

Bella's eyes widened in pure shock, and her hand darted to the grass to prevent herself from toppling over. With but one word spoken, she recognized the voice she hadn't heard in seven years. _This _voice had been engrained in her subconscious. She knew it like her own.

"Alice?" she whispered, stuttering and breathless.

"Bella?" Alice started again, this time, her voice trembling and hurried. "Listen to me. I can't explain it to you right now. And I can't come there. Trust me. You have to leave the city. You have to leave New York immediately. Now."

While she'd imagined a reunion so many times, it had never been like this. Still stunned to the point that her heart was pounding like a racehorse in her chest, part of her was suddenly angry that after all this time, this was it, just some cryptic demand to uproot her life with no explanation or even a simple 'Hi, how are you? I'm sorry.' In that second, it was like her mind disregarded the fact that she'd spent the last three years of her life searching for them.

"What?" Bella cried, shaking her head. "No! Wait, Alice? Where are you? I don't understand! You left me! And you suddenly just call and say this? How, how do you even have my number? You haven't contacted me since… I-, I just can't up and leave because you call me out of the blue! Where are you? What's going on?"

"Bella, please!" Alice begged, her voice climbing in volume. "Just leave! Go anywhere! You have to listen to me. Get out!"

.

.

* * *

**A/N:** If it's not clear, Bella attends Columbia University in NYC. Butler is one of the libraries there – very nice one actually. The Rare Books and Manuscripts section referred to in chapter 2 is real, located on the 6th floor. The Ancient and Medieval Studies room and Comparative Literature and Sociology section are there, as well.

I try pretty hard (often too hard and spend far too much time lol) to make sure details in my fics are accurate - cities, landscapes, buildings, flights, languages, etc. Even stuff you don't necessarily see in print – I still end up researching because, well, I'm maybe a little OCD. For this chap, thank you, justaskalice, for the consultation on seedier areas in the greater Minneapolis-St. Paul area.

Ah, also, note that Bella uses the term "Stregone Benefico" for Carlisle. This would be the singular of "Stregoni Benefici" [Thanks, Camilla10]


	5. A Decision of Consequence

**A Decision of Consequence**

* * *

"Bel-la," a feminine voice sang. "Earth to Bella!"

A sweeping wave of peach-colored flesh across her vision interrupted her abstraction. For a moment, she was dazed and disoriented as her head swept back and forth, taking in her surroundings. She was unsure of where she was, not fully comprehending the dim lighting and the low rumble in the background. All around her, people were talking, their voices melding and blending together into some indiscernible blur of sound. In unconscious, nervous movement, her slim fingers clutched and tightened around the edge of red-checkered vinyl, her short nails pressing thin crescents into the fabric. Trying to find steady ground again, she inhaled and the heady scent of flowing beer and frying food sucked through her lungs.

But before she could fully shake the haze, her breathing caught in a strangled cry when, from behind her, there was a sudden screeching crash of metal and glass. The sound jolted her, startling her completely back into the present. Bella's heart leapt as surely as her body, and the flat of her palm immediately targeted her chest. Nervously, she swiveled in the booth, daring to locate the cause of the racket, Alice's words now screaming in her mind. When her eyes met a red-faced and sheepish looking young server bent over a stack of broken plates, her shoulders fell in relief, and the lungful of air she'd been holding rushed out in a loud gush.

"Bells? Are you okay?" Angela asked, a worried crease creeping across her forehead, pushing the thin frames of her glasses down her nose. Her hand reached across the table and grasped Bella's forearm in reassurance.

"What?" Bella answered, shaking her head as she turned back in her seat. Alice's words of pleading were now on constant playback, making her jittery and tense. Hoping to slow her racing pulse and to stop the slight tremor in her limbs, she drew in deep, calming breaths.

_What does she mean?_ she asked herself for what felt like the hundredth time. If it were not for the clarity of the memory, Bella would have sworn that the call was simply a figment of her imagination. But the raw panic in Alice's voice had been unmistakable and was something that her mind could not have conjured. Raking the pads of her fingers across her denim covered thighs, her mind clamored, _I need to get out of here. But where do I go? And I can't just leave!_ She felt frozen, unable to decide her path forward – to run or to stay.

When she saw the concern plainly written across Angela's normally composed countenance, Bella forced back the disquiet, vowing not to scare her friend over something that even now made no sense. It wasn't as though she could tell the truth anyway – if she even knew what the truth was. In what she hoped was a calmer, more subdued voice, Bella exhaled, "Ang? Oh, shit. Sorry about that. I was just-, just spacing out a little. Just a little distracted.

"Sorry. Anyway. Wha-, what were you saying?"

Angela rolled her eyes and grinned, releasing Bella's arm. "A little? Seriously? I called your name like five times and you didn't even look up. What's up with you today? I haven't seen you this _distracted_ since… well, never. Did Holder give you hell or something?"

Bella rubbed her eyes, both to help clear her mind and to stall. "No, it's not J. J. Well, not this time," she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I mean, yeah, he's a little impatient with the progress – or maybe lack thereof – I've made, but he's just trying for tenure so he's pushing. Anyway, I've been reading more than usual and have a lot on my mind. I guess I need a break."

"I'd say," Angela commented, raising her brows, her concern evident once more. "You look tired, Bella. And stressed. Maybe we should go on home? We can do this another night."

"No, no!" Bella exclaimed, a little too excitedly. "Let's just eat and maybe order a couple of rounds. I think I could use something about now."

Angela giggled and toyed with her napkin. "You never drink. Now I _know_ it's Dr. Holder. He's sucking you dry."

"Whatever," Bella answered with strained grin and another shake of her head. "Sucking me dry, I get it. Har har, you're funny alright."

Glancing across the room to their server, she raised her arm and summoned him over. _Alice can wait_, Bella thought resolutely, her earlier irritation pricking again, embarrassed and annoyed by the fear so few words had instilled. _If it's that important and that dire…, _she argued, thinking it through, _T__his might be what I've been looking for. She'll come here... Finally. _Contemplating what exactly that would mean fluttered her stomach in warning.

Thirty minutes later, working on a third glass of stout, Alice's words and voice faded to a mere whisper, a faint tickling in the back of her mind.

"God, Ang, you should have seen it. Davies almost took Tyler's head off. I've never seen a prelim go _that_ wrong," she whispered, choking back a laugh. The remembered image of Tyler Crowley's eyes wide as saucers and mouth agape sent her into a round of inebriated giggles.

"Well, shit, Bella, all he does is smoke," Angela guffawed, a slight slur dulling the edges of her articulation. "Are they kicking him out?"

"I don't think so. I think he had a couple of peo-,"

"Ladies!" a voice rang out from across the crowded bar, interrupting their amusement. Both heads jerked up at the address. When they caught sight of a familiar blond, spiky head of hair bobbing its way from the doorway to their table, Angela clapped her palm to her forehead and groaned.

"You picked the place," Bella teased, shaking her finger in chastisement.

"Hey, Mike," she greeted, as he slid into the booth beside her. When he purposefully edged his thigh against hers, Bella gave an exaggerated sigh – one meant to be heard. With a playful swat to the bicep, she pushed him away and continued. "I thought you had review sessions this week. What are you doing here?"

"Silly, Bella," he crooned, throwing his arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. "Don't you know that 'ole Mikey can get out of just about anything?

"Plus, Eric's totally got tonight. I think he's hoping to ask one of the undergrads out or something. Said something about one of them failing the last exam and needing some tutoring. Total dork. Who hits on girls in junior P-chem, anyway?"

"Oh, like you are so cool. Because hitting on girls – your _supposed_ friends – in bars is much better," Angela snorted. "You really are awful, Mike."

Bella choked on her drink as he wagged his shaggy eyebrows. In what she assumed to be an attempt at seduction, he smirked and pressed, "When are we going out, Ang? Ben won't care. I swear. He told me to have at it. So, let's go, you, me, dinner, dancing, _afterward_… What do you say?"

"Knock it off, Mike-y," Angela taunted, knocking her sneaker against his shin underneath the table. "Ben will kick your ass."

Still buzzed from the beer, Bella threw her head back in a fit of laughter. "Ben? More like you will! And Ben will watch!"

"Okay, fine, Bella," Mike chuckled, turning to her. She knew immediately what was coming; ever since they'd landed in the same orientation group three years ago, not a month had gone by when he hadn't asked. His steel blue eyes brightened in mischief. "So, then if not Ang, when are _we_ going out? You still owe me for bailing last week, by the way. I had to eat that ticket."

"Jesus, you are desperate. That movie was what, seven dollars? And I told you I couldn't make it," she managed through snickers. "And oh, like always, _never_. I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole after that episode with Jessica."

Mike's lips twitched, threatening a smile. "You are a cold-hearted woman, Isabella Swan. And I resent that remark! Jessica was a… sweet girl…" Bella's brows shot up. Mike grinned and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. And a little perverted. And damned horny…

"But you! You spend too much time in that crazy vampire world of yours. You're waiting on the Count, aren't you?" he teased, leaning in, baring his teeth as if to bite her neck. "I can bite, too, you know."

"Gross, Mike." Bella scrunched her face in mock disgust and pushed his head away. "Here, drink this," she said, handing him her glass. "You need it more than I do."

Mike pulled away, chuckling, and took a long pull. "Hey, why didn't you pick up the phone? I called you like three times tonight. I was _trying_ to see if you guys were going out. Lucky me I found you myself. I'm beginning to think you don't love me anymore, that you're _avoiding_ me." He plumped his lips, giving her his best puppy dog impersonation.

"What?" Bella started, confused. "What are you talking about? My phone hasn't gone off once tonight." Before she had a chance to check, she watched in both amusement and annoyance as Mike pawed through her purse.

His eyes narrowed at the screen as he clicked a button. "Well, shit, Bells. It's on silent. No wonder you didn't-,"

Mike paused, turned his head, and eyed her speculatively. "But _apparently_, I'm not the only one calling you, Ms. Popular. You have like fourteen other missed calls today."

"Give that to me!" she stammered, tugging on the crook of his elbow. "Come on, Mike. It might be my dad. He's out on the lake."

But her words were not her thoughts. Her stomach sank in dread, knowing what was coming. Her mouth went dry, desiccated and cottony, almost as if she hadn't drunk anything for days. The slight swim in her head from the alcohol immediately cleared, and she could hear blood pounding in her ears.

"Someone has a boyfriend," he chanted, oblivious to her change in demeanor. Mike punched another button, holding his hand just out of reach, fighting to keep her scrambling arms away. "And his name is… _Unknown_. Wait, _Unknown_? Damnit. Probably just a prank. And here I thought Bella was holding out on us."

"Bella?" Angela asked, seeing the color drain from Bella's face. "Are you okay? What's wrong? Are you sick?"

She grabbed the phone from Mike's limp hand and stared down at the list of missed calls._ Not fourteen, but fifteen_, she realized, counting the entries a second time. Her heart felt like it was beating its way out of her chest. Bella could feel every thump, every knock against her sternum. The drink she'd consumed swirled in her middle, threatening to come up, and she could feel the chill of the air glancing across fresh beads of sweat on the back of her neck.

Bella licked her lips, trying to find the words. In a breathy stutter, she replied, hoping they wouldn't question her further, "Yeah, I-, I'm really not feeling too well… Too much beer and not-, not enough sleep. Sorry guys, but I-, I think I'm going to go home now…maybe lie down."

"Hey, you," Mike interjected softly, latching his hand around her upper arm to steady her. "What's wrong? Let me take you, okay? You look really… _bad_ all of a sudden. How much did you drink?" His expression had lost all of its jovial humor, and instead now held sincere alarm. Bella felt both his and Angela's eyes trained to her face, but all she could see was the black-type font on the screen.

"Yeah-," was all she could muster. Vaguely, Bella heard Angela tell Mike to stay at the apartment until she made it back herself.

When she finally made it back to her apartment, despite Mike's vehement protestations, with a wave and a promise to call, Bella sent him home, stating she just needed rest and that she felt better. The truth was that she didn't feel any better. Her stomach was cinched in knots and her breathing felt too shallow. But she had to know, had to know whatever it was that was so important. Barely feeling the floor beneath her, she padded across her room to her bed, shutting the door and locking it behind her. Not knowing what was to come, she certainly didn't want anyone around when she hit send.

As her thumb hovered over the send button, her will trying to force her to press down, the screen lit up vibrant white and _Unknown_ flashed across.

"Alice?" she whispered.

"Bella," Alice exhaled. She sounded angry. "You didn't leave! Why? God, what have you _done?_ Why didn't you listen to me?"

"I-, I don't understand. What's going on? Why do I have to leave? Why do you keep calling me? Where are you? Alice! Why did you leave me to start with?" Bella blurted, her words spilling out as fast as she could think them. Sharp, hot tears pooled and burned in her eyes. The more she spoke, the more anxious she became. Mixed with the already tense emotions brewing from years-ago pain and longing, it was a dangerous concoction, and she felt light headed and confused.

"Calm down," Alice soothed, hearing the strain in Bella's voice. More firmly, she continued, her musical lilt now low and commanding. "We don't have time to talk about what happened then. This is more important. But it's too late now. It doesn't matter if you leave the city or not. Listen to me. You must _listen_, Bella. Someone is coming. One of our kind. And I don't know what will happen."

"What?" Bella cried, shrieking almost. "What are you talking about? Who's coming where? _What_ are _you talking about, Alice?"_

Bella listened in abject misery and fear as the sounds of Alice's dry sobs carried across the line. "I can't, Bella. You remember, right? That I see things? You remember? Please say you do. Bella.

"I _can't_ come to you. If I do…no, I won't! No matter which way it happens, no matter how I decide, what I see is the same. I _won't _cause that."

_Can't… What does that mean?_

_One of our kind. _

_I don't know what will happen…_

_No matter which way it happens, no matter how I decide__…_

_Can't… Won't…_

"Alice?" Bella replied, abruptly calm. "What do you mean you _can't _come here_? _What happens if you do? Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me._"_

"You die." Her whisper was like a knife, cutting through silence.

"And if you don't? And this… _someone_ comes here? Do I… still die?" she asked, detached. Her voice sounded loud and hollow in her ears, and her body felt numb. As she looked up from the bed, the room transformed into some surreal dreamscape, some nonsensical blur of colors and shapes. The curtains twisted and the walls shifted. It was as though the floor gave away and in its place, there was a black, gaping abyss.

"I don't know. Sometimes… sometimes not. He hasn't decided."

"Who hasn't decided, Alice, who?" she cried, as her hands grappled with her comforter, holding her in place and upright. "And why? Why is he after me?"

Another sob rang out, and Alice replied shakily. "The Volturi. They found out anyway."

"What do I do?" she whispered. That single word – _Volturi _– stole her breath and stopped her heart.

"I don't know."

~.~.~

The city was loud in every possible way. Inside his head, above the cars and horns and thundering subway below his feet, he heard thousands of voices, all clamoring and screaming for his attention. It was near madness, internal voices warring with external, a cacophonous roar of sound.

It had been decades since he'd last been in such a large city. Only rarely did he willfully inflict this kind of mind-numbing torture upon himself. From the moment Edward had awoken to the acute smells and sounds of bustling Chicago, he'd avoided such places. While his vampire mind could process it all as soon as it was absorbed, it was an annoyance, a distraction.

Edward glanced up from the sidewalk, staring at the long, angular expanses of steel, concrete, and glass. Hundreds of stories the buildings climbed, almost as if they were trying to touch the sun. Overhead, hidden behind the steel, the skies were gray and murky, the clouds heavy and sagging with impending rain. Below, buried down between the man-made mountains, moisture and humidity saturated the air, concentrating the smells of waste, decay, sweat, and burned gasoline. Brief wafts of perfume and manufactured scents cut through the thick fog, but never could they drive it away. There was too much, too many here.

As he walked along the busy street, crowds parted, giving him wide berth. He looked like one of them, clad in fine, modern city attire, carrying a rolled up paper as a prop. Where most of his kind hid behind lenses or contacts, Edward never bothered. He knew that they never looked long enough to see; he knew their thoughts. Most often, their brief voices and acknowledgements were of a baser nature.

Everywhere he passed, Edward heard their appraisals, their silent evaluations. Feminine whispers tickled his mind, as women imagined their hands pulling and tugging on his messy bronze hair and _his_ hands gripping tightly around their waists.

_My God, look at that one,_ a newly single mother murmured. _So handsome… almost beautiful. I bet he has tons of women…_

_Those hands… That walk… Christ, he looks like a model,_ a college-aged girl whispered. _What I wouldn't give…_

The irony was not lost on him when a particularly loud voice wondered what his lips and tongue would feel like lapping and sucking on her throat. Passing by the brash young blonde, he chuckled, thinking that had he not fed in Minneapolis, she would have gotten her wish. Women of this era were vocal and forward, a demeanor and behavior to which he'd yet to become accustomed, a likely permanent holdover from his days as a human.

Where women's thoughts were boldly physical and nearly always wanting, their counterparts' voices raged in his mind as they considered his threat. They viewed him in the typical, inane and trivial human manner – not as predator, but as competition. Some tried to emulate his easy saunter. But most cursed him and spat their epithets in trite jealousy.

But like always, the depths of the human mind recognized danger even if it was unspoken and not fully understood. Almost as if unconsciously programmed, they all steered clear of his path.

There were three humans by the initial and surname, I. Swan, who were affiliated with the university and its library. The records Edward had been sent were incomplete and had been pulled in haste by one of their human _assistants_. _Incompetent_, he grated, quashing the desire to seek the offending servant out. It was irritating knowing that he had to search these humans out, not knowing which target was his. But he knew it would take little time considering the proximity of the university. And while his distaste for the city was palpable, he was in no rush to return to his _home _and the monotony of his servile life. At least here, he was free, unencumbered by those around him, his fellow guards and their all-hearing senses. At least here, he didn't have to listen to constant thoughts of domination and of bloodthirsty need. Alone, he felt some measure of anonymity and privacy.

After a leisurely walk to an old Portland brownstone near the north end of the main campus, Edward quickly found the first name. An elderly woman – _Imogene Swan_ – Edward thought just as his hand hovered above the knocker centered on the door to her apartment. Even from behind the door, he could smell her pungent human scent. Her blood was sickly and tainted by medicines and age. It was rot in comparison to the sweet perfume of the Cullens' collective memory. Through her own eyes, Edward saw the wrinkles of the old woman's hands and shaking palsy of her disease as she looped another bight, knitting mindlessly. Edward's lips stretched into a small smile when, despite her age and physical fatigue, he heard her mental thoughts, as sharp and coherent as those belonging to one a quarter of her years. Watching her daytime soap opera, her thoughts on modern women oddly echoed his own.

The second name was stricken before he reached the dwelling. When he saw the name – _Isaac Swan _– written in brassy, swirling script across the top of the mail slot, Edward whispered under his breath, "You are fortunate today, Isaac Swan."

Just as he approached the last address, a standing architectural testament to a bygone era with its tall blown glass windows and intricately detailed masonry, the clouds let loose and a heavy drizzle rained down. The air was humid and damp and the smells from the city aggregated in the asphalt valley between the buildings. Realization hit, and he smiled in anticipation. Her scent was there, too, faint but present, lingering by the entry. Edward could smell the oil from her skin coating the metal push bar and then the bare hint of her scent by the bulletin board hanging on the wall as he crept inside.

Even at the low concentration, his throat flared to life, flames licking his tongue. _So potent_, Edward mused, incredulous, as he swallowed a mouthful of venom. It was even stronger than what he'd experienced through Carlisle Cullen's mind. Her bouquet, floral and lusciously sweet, called to him, beckoned him, taunted him deep inside. Anxious for her drink, his stomach twisted and churned.

He'd heard that it was possible, that some scents were more… _appealing_. Edward had even relived it through memories. But other than the small nuances that separated one human's essence from another's, he'd never experienced it for himself.

He sucked in a lungful, testing the perfume. This was nothing like those memories; they were but a pale approximation. With every breath, the strength of her allure grew stronger and stronger, obliterating his carefully cultivated cool façade. Salivating, his eyes blackened to specks of coal and his fingers curled into gripping talons. She – _Isabella Swan_ – smelled… _delicious… mouthwatering _even. Killing her, eliminating her, tasting her as her blood painted his tongue, would be ecstasy.

As if trying to clear it, Edward furiously shook his head, sending a wide spray of rainwater splattering against the wall. With but a quick glance around and not bothering to hide his speed, he raced up the fire exit stairs, targeting her door immediately. No one was there to witness his flight. Mid-day, the halls were empty; the only thoughts were those of but a handful of apartment inhabitants. If they even mattered. They were no threat; he would kill them all to get to her.

Half-crazed, each step forward carried with it a hundred ways in which he could take her. By the time he reached her door, her scent was nearly intolerable, filling his lungs and nostrils to the point where all he could smell was her blood's elixir.

Her blood was too pure and too fine to waste in a hurry. Already decided, he would spirit her away and hide her so that he could savor every drop, so that he could make this perfection last as long as possible. Just the thought of tasting this girl shook his body; hard, rolling shudders coursed up and down his spine as he imagined taking her. Over and over, his teeth would pierce her flesh and find her pumping veins. He could already feel her supple curves giving beneath his trembling hands. His body suddenly felt warm, hot even, _alive_. Pushing every other sound away, a thumping beat pounded in his head, his mind's imagining of her thundering heart. He would hold her for days – weeks even – teasing himself by keeping her alive.

"Mine," he hissed as he splintered through the heavy oaken door.

.

.


	6. Sought and Found

**Sought and Found**

* * *

The room was quiet but for the hissing of heated whispers. Like a timid field mouse, she peeked out from her dark recess and noted that in a far corner, across the expanse of tables and chairs, there was a small group of undergraduates. They were debating, their argument animated and tense, fueled by the restraint demanded by their location. They were oblivious to her, existing in their own bubble of time and space. A tinge of envy pushed through her veins, jealous of their relative safety and ignorance.

Unable to sleep, at dawn's first light, Bella had initially set out for Schermerhorn, thinking that her small cube of an office would grant her some measure of peace and security. For her night had been fitful and lacking in rest, filled with waking nightmares. After hanging up with Alice, she had tossed and turned relentlessly in her sheets, her mind inventing a thousand frightening scenarios.

_I should have run like Alice told me_, she'd repeated over and over, cursing herself and her stubbornness.

Everywhere her eyes paused to rest, in the darkness of the night, she saw the billowing shadows of cloaked black figures and glowing red eyes. Sparks of imagined menace ignited a deep fear, one that settled in the pit of her stomach and refused to budge.

That one, simple phrase, _You die_, kept her stationary, locked into place, unsure of whether or not she should run and hide or stay and face her possible fate. When the sun peeked through the gauzy curtain of her window, after hours of struggle, her mind finally came to rest. From what she knew of her vampires, if she left, it would do nothing but prolong the waiting. If this someone, this Volturi, wanted to find her, he would. Decision made, she opted to do – or at least try to do – what she always did when buried by stress: keeping going and pretend as though nothing were wrong.

But to her dismay, Bella's office had done nothing to assuage the anxiety. After hours of trying and failing to ignore the blaring radios and talk of weekend activities, Bella found herself speeding down the familiar paths, weaving and darting through the masses of unconcerned students. In minutes, once again, she was crouched down in the familiar embrace of towering stacks. There, the atmosphere felt comforting and quiet, and the incense of worn oily leather and musty pages surrounding her soothed the current of her nerves.

Barely touching the page, her forefinger ghosted across the inked indentions, tracing the lines of an unchanging face. When she had discovered Carlisle that night, she had been so overwhelmed with her finding that she failed to notice the other paintings. Opposite the portrait, there was another Solimena. Only this one held the images of three men, three pale, striking beings, marked by jewels and ancient finery: _Re Della Notte, 1702_.

"Kings of the Night," she whispered. "Volturi."

_Why do they seek me? What have I done? _Yet deep down, a part of her recognized that she was searching for forbidden fruit. They'd always been secretive, never telling her more than she asked, and even then, the Cullens' answers were vague and evasive. Back then, she merely thought that they didn't want her to know their world. Now, however, she wondered if there was more to it than that. But it all made so little sense.

Slouching against the hard wooden shelf behind her, Bella closed her eyes, allowing her mind to drift back, trying to recall some hint, some piece of the puzzle. Sharp edges of book bindings bit into her back, but she paid them no heed.

A spritely young woman with amber eyes and inky black hair waltzed across her memory, graceful and lithe, and always in Bella's mind, invincible both physically and in spirit.

The ground had been so slick that first day at the new school; transparent sheets of ice had blanketed the school's parking lot and it was everything she could do to stay upright. As clearly as if she were there just now, she could see the gray, half-frozen mist falling around her and she could smell the pine trees. In the early morning hours, hidden behind silvery clouds and silvery air, the sun was dim and muted. Just as the first bell rang, clanging disharmoniously in her ears, an out-of-control, speeding van careened and fishtailed around the nearby corner. She could hear the tires squealing and she could taste the sudden metallic tinge of blood when her teeth pierced her tongue. There was no time to react, and the moment she looked up, she knew her fate was done and sealed.

That van should have crushed and pinned her against the rusted out red fender of her old truck; there was no mistaking its natural path. And for a split second, she had believed that it had. But somehow, some way, in the nick of time, a whirring blur slammed into her, knocking the wind out of her chest and her body to the ground. Tingles stung her back at the remembered chill of the ice and the asphalt. She hadn't died that day; inexplicably, she had barely even bruised. That was the first day the Cullens revealed themselves for who – and what – they were.

Hundreds of afternoons and nights passed before her closed eyes. Stretched across Emmett's broad back and shoulders, she flew through the trees so fast, blindingly fast. Tears leaked out from her eyes and her hair whipped behind her as she listened to him laugh at her squeals of delight. Her scalp prickled and tugged when Rosalie plaited her hair as she hummed an old tune. And Jasper stared, smirking at her from across an old wooden chessboard, waiting for her to make her move. But he always cheated; when she was near victory, he would grin and chuckle and then her eyes would involuntarily slide shut.

Of course, there had been questions unanswered and cryptic comments, but out of all her memories of her time with the Cullens, only one truly struck a chord of suspicion. Late in the spring, her senior year, three red-eyed visitors had been foreseen, three vampires unlike _her _vampires. Nomads, Alice had called them. Watching them play a game of baseball, she watched as Alice wound up to pitch, but then suddenly stopped and her eyes glazed over. Panic lit up her features and she babbled something so low and fast, Bella never did understand what had been said. But a day later, under the guise of a weekend trip to Portland, Alice and Rosalie had spirited her away and hidden her in the city for the weekend. Back then, without questioning their reasoning, Bella had assumed it was all for her safety's sake. Now, however, she wondered if there was more there. Even then, maybe they had protected her from more than just becoming a meal; perhaps she was a secret to be kept. For less than a month later, her vampires had disappeared.

**~.~.~**

Her scent was _everywhere_. It coated everything, the walls, the oak wood floor, the antique brass doorknobs, the tattered paperbacks on the shelf… _everything_. The fragrance was so powerful, so saturated and so heady, that he could barely think or function beyond inhaling. His mind swam from the sensations, dizzy, overwrought, and consumed with need for her. The thumping heartbeat he had conjured in his thirst pounded like drums, unrelenting, loud, echoing down and into abdomen. White-hot flames danced through his chest, spreading like a wildfire, up to the tip of his tongue, begging for the only drink cool enough to quench the inferno.

In a mindless frenzy, he darted from one end of the apartment to the other, following the scent. Immediately, Edward knew that she was absent; he could hear nothing but the frivolous thoughts of her nearby neighbors leaching through the walls. But his body, however, did not seem to notice, instead jerking him toward her bedroom in a blinding blur. How the scent could be any stronger, he didn't know, but her bedroom was a prison to his senses, locking him in place.

Her scent was strongest on her pillow where her head lay each night. Unthinkingly, he lifted it as if it were a sacred object, bringing it to his face, his mouth gaping in staggered awe. As the cotton glided across his cheek, transferring her perfume to his skin, his shaded eyes snapped tightly shut. In a daze, over and over, he rubbed his face in the downy cushion, sucking in as much of _her_ as his lungs would take.

It felt like drowning, like being completely inundated and consumed, and for those first moments, time seemed to eddy and churn as the blaze of thirst lit up his throat. Her scent burned him, but he couldn't drag himself away. It was the perfect mixture of heaven and hell, of pain so sweet, it was acutely divine.

Eventually, after what had to have been hours, reason began to return and the flames started to recede. Not vanished – not by any means – but the swimming stopped and the thirst and need abated. Slowly, articulated thoughts began surfacing and concentration came easier. Instead of stewing slack-jawed in her fragrance, his mind cleared just enough such that he could plot and plan how to find her.

Edward expelled his lungs in a forceful gush, quickly understanding that were he not to breathe, he could likely maintain his sanity. And if he planned to keep the girl, it would be required. Otherwise, he'd take her on the spot and suck her dry. Recalling the deranged frenzy to which he'd succumbed when he first entered her space, Edward understood that he'd have had no chance against her had she been home. He would need to approach her carefully, expecting her fragrance. But he _had_ to find her; an inexplicable tug, a low, humming vibration, almost imperceptible, fluttered through his limbs. He felt uneasy and on edge. It felt like… _anticipation_.

Wasting no time, he pawed through her desk drawers and files, searching for signs of where she might have gone. All he found were stacks and piles of miscellaneous books and papers, none of which pointed anywhere helpful. There was no rhyme or reasoning, no sense of filing. Huffing in annoyance, he slammed the drawers shut, cracking them at the joints. In a last effort, he nearly toppled her bed, hoping to find _something_. When an overfilled black binder bursting with wrinkled and inked pages caught his eye, he smiled and chuckled.

Page after page held her loopy scrawl, the word 'Volturi' written countless times, as if an unconscious doodle. Xeroxed copies of paintings and city layouts were interspersed with news clippings and old quotes. Slowly, he realized, she _was_ piecing them together. When he landed on Carlisle Cullen's photo clipped to a creased black and white photocopy of a centuries-old portrait, he knew she was far too close indeed. His masters were more right than they ever dreamed. Some small part of him, the rebellious, discontented part, was impressed by her skill and tenacity, for she was one of but a handful who had managed to unearth such secrets. Like the rest of them, however, she would suffer for it.

It was frustrating; despite these clues and evidence, nothing in her room gave hint to where she might have gone. Her closet seemed untouched, filled with clothes and boxes, and nothing in her room seemed out of place. She was still in town, he was certain. Darkly, he considered waiting for her, hiding in her very home. When she finally returned, he would take her and pin her down, holding her hostage in her own bed, while he drank her wine. The scene was too bright and too enticing; he almost slipped and breathed. Catching himself, he tried to divert his thoughts. But he could already feel the heat of her blood pouring down his throat.

Just as he was settling to wait, from downstairs, standing out amongst the muffled roar of thoughts, he caught a hint of a particular mental voice. It was soft and gentle, and there was a clear note of concern.

Alongside the clink and grind of the lock turning in an old mail box, a heart shaped face appeared in a mind and that same soft voice wondered, _Hope Bella's made it home. God, she looked awful last night. She didn't drink that much… but still, she's always been such a lightweight… Maybe it was the pastrami from lunch… Though, it probably was Holder after all. He's such a jerk… don't know why she puts up with him… But she was gone this morning… so maybe she's okay… _

_Now, where is that check… I really want to go on that cruise with Ben this summer… He needs a break… and so do I… I hope it comes in tomorrow… Oh! Need to call Mom and see how the twins' appointment went…_

With a growl, Edward stalked out of the room, irritated that the direction of the girl's thoughts had shifted. This soft-spoken girl knew where Isabella Swan was – or _Bella_, as she had called her. If she knew, then soon would he. Quickly, he sped down the stairwell, his feet only grazing the tiled steps, just in time to see an almost-black haired girl, thin in the extreme, carrying a stack of reference manuals and targeting the elevator.

He needed to distract her, to delay her so that he could interrogate her. Of course, he could force her compliance, but judging by the kindness of her thoughts, he didn't think it would be necessary. Planting an easy, friendly smile on his face, Edward called quietly, "May I assist you with those?"

The dark haired girl spun, nearly toppling her books, and a pale pink spread across her skin as she watched his approach. Edward was careful and stopped far enough away not to cause her alarm. He could hear her heart stutter in surprise, and a puff of hot breath carried across the space. Warily, he sipped the air, wincing only slightly at the fragrance still coating his skin. It was strong, but not incapacitating.

"Oh, I apologize. I-, I didn't mean to startle you," Edward soothed, seeing her eyes widen behind the thin plastic of her lenses. When he raked his hand through his hair, feigning embarrassment, her heart stuttered again and her thoughts scattered, almost incoherent. He pointed to her books and smiled wider, hoping to reassure her. "You just look like you have an armful there."

"Ah, um, I'm fine. But, yeah, thanks?" Angela answered nervously. Were he not impatient already, he would have found her statement and contradictory inflection amusing. Humans were so incredibly easy to muddle. Angela took a deep breath and her thoughts quieted. Edward listened intently as she silently appraised his ashen complexion and angular jaw. Her mental cataloguing paused when she reached his eyes.

_Black… jet-black,_ she mused. _What an odd color. Maybe it's just the lighting in here… But wow, he's… gorgeous. And so… put together. God, those jeans look amazing on him… And that – damnit, Angela, stop! But this is the kind of guy Bella needs to be with._ Her reaction was so unexpected Edward was briefly taken aback by this girl's selflessness – never had he heard a woman think him a better match for a friend than for herself. _Oh, if you only knew_, he laughed mutely.

Interrupting _his_ evaluation, Angela continued hastily, "But thank you. Are-, are you here for someone? I haven't seen you in the building before."

_Perfect_, he thought. Edward grinned, this time flashing a row of gleaming white teeth, and nodded. As he pressed the elevator button for her, he rearranged his features into a confused and forlorn expression. "Actually, yes. I'm looking for a Bella Swan? Do you know her? I was told she lived in this building. We were friends back in high school. I heard she was here in the city and wanted to catch up for old times' sake."

A gasp in Angela's chest told him that she had taken the bait. _What was that name again? Bella used to talk about those people from Forks all the time before she got into that thesis… He must be one of them… she said they were all ridiculously good looking. God, who are they? Think, Angela, think! _

"Bella's my roommate," she mumbled, still trying recall the name from her memory.

"Oh, seriously? My name is Edward… Masen. Bella might have spoken about my uncle? Carlisle Cullen? And my cousin, Alice?" The lies rolled off his tongue, delivered in the smoothest and most convincing of tones.

Angela's eyes popped in recognition and she almost dropped her books. _Cullen! That's it! Bella is going to be ecstatic! She better get her ass home quick! Maybe I should call her…_

"I'm only here for a couple of days," he went on, interrupting her internal chatter. Frowning and looking at the floor, he wrung his hands in mock discomfort and then shoved them in his pockets. He sighed and his tone dropped. "I-, I hope she's not too busy. Do you know where she might be? I'd love to surprise her. We-, well, we kind of had a little bit of a thing senior year. And I've thought of her _so_ many times."

"Butler," Angela answered too fast, gulping. "She's always in Butler Library. Middle of campus. Impossible to miss. Usually on the sixth floor."

Edward's eyes flashed warmly and another brilliant grin stretched across his pale features, momentarily stunning Angela. He was unlike anyone she'd ever seen before; it was almost eerie, as if she were conversing with a statue carved from perfect stone. Edward chuckled and bid her farewell. "Thank you so much, _Angela_."

Before she could even process the fact she'd never told him her name, he was gone, darting through the door at an almost unnatural gait.

Within minutes of leaving the building, Edward was on campus, using the thoughts and images in its inhabitants' memories to find his target. The library was child's play to locate. He bounded down the long walk, barely controlling his speed. As he grabbed the door, he smelled her again, and she ignited his throat once more.

In the entry, it was cool and quiet. All around, he could hear their subdued thoughts; some read noiselessly while others debated in dark corners. He almost laughed when, from above, he heard the sounds of two young humans panting in the stairwell, their thoughts a cloud of heat. Above him and below, he could hear these humans going about their daily lives as if there were nothing to fear.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion, he slowly climbed into the old elevator. An excitement began to build when he punched the sixth floor button and watched the plastic glow white. Her scent was here, too; he could tell precisely where she had stood and leaned against the wall.

When the doors finally slid open, he stepped out purposefully, following her scent toward a massive open space. In the center, there were dozens of dark wood reading tables, each adorned with piles of open books lit by glowing, emerald-shaded lamps. Along the periphery, dark tunnels formed from the deep rows of ceiling-high stacks. In the dim overhead light, the gold and silver scripted bindings glittered and cast sprays of twinkling lights so faint that only he could see.

It was strangely silent in the room, almost devoid of human life; the soft click of his heel against the black and white tile sounded loud and echoed in the open space. Edward glanced to the left and saw a small grouping of humans – more children – all of whom were staring at his unexpected entry. They were wary and unconsciously fearful, but unmoving in their seats. Through their thoughts, he could see the wildness of his expression; his jaw was tight and strained and his hair was disheveled. A blonde's lips parted and her breath caught. Seeing the still-black glint of his eyes, her subconscious stammered a rapid repeat of _Get out… Wrong, all wrong. _

Edward glared at the grouping and quietly warned, "If you are wise, children, you will depart now." Four pairs of eyes widened and then four pairs of hands hastily gathered their belongings, stumbling on their way out, not one daring to cross him. What their minds didn't recognize, instincts did.

_She's here_, Edward thought, hearing the thrum of a single heartbeat. His eyes closed in amazement as the real, live sound of her heart merged in perfect cadence with the tempo and pitch he'd created. Never had he experienced this kind of anomaly. An unexplainable sharp pull in his chest jerked him forward toward one of the end rows.

_Strange_, Bella thought when she heard the slapping of books closing and the squeaks of tennis shoes. Glancing up from her text, she stretched her neck up, trying to see the cause of the sudden commotion. Alarmed, she heard the measured, clipped steps of a man's heel popping against the tile. He was walking slowly, pausing periodically, as if he were searching. _For me_, she added without thinking.

Slowly, she rose from her spot on the floor, unwittingly drawn to the sound of the strangely patterned footsteps. A pulsed pang of warning shot down her spine and she simply _knew_.

The memory of Alice's high soprano screamed at her. _Someone is coming… One of our kind._

Some deeply buried instinct told her to run, but rationally she knew that it would be futile. If this was it, the danger that Alice had warned, Bella knew she wouldn't last five steps against one of them. So instead, she gulped and walked forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso, as if to hold herself together and still the rolling shivers.

The heartbeat in his mind sputtered and sped. Edward could hear her dry gulp and then the springy pad of rubber soles against the floor. Her blood was pumping oh-so-fast, and his throat constricted in protest, despite his lack of breathing. His head spun immediately, his eyes training precisely to a single black nook between two shelves.

When she emerged from the dark, two sharp, surprised bursts of air resounded in the silence – his and hers – and for a moment, they stood, staring, neither moving, both frozen in time and space.

The moment she saw his near-ethereal complexion, all her suspicions were confirmed. He – the very one Alice spoke of – was standing there, as beautiful as any of _her_ vampires, if not more so. Tall and lean, almost lanky, his stance was neither menacing nor reassuring. He was waiting, for what she didn't know. But something about him made her want to step even closer, despite the sure danger.

His angular features were hard and perfectly symmetrical, as if chiseled from marble. In the light, she could see his bedraggled hair was the oddest shade, something in between light auburn and red; it was bronze almost, with streaks of a dozen shades in between. The tips of her fingers jolted at the sudden imagining of running her hands through it. But unlike her vampires, however, this man's eyes were jet-black, thirsty, as she remembered from her days long ago.

In a split second, Edward flipped through all of the Cullens' memories. The woman before him looked different, older than the human girl they recalled. She'd gained perhaps ten pounds from when they'd seen her last, and it became her, settling in the places that drew men's eyes. Her cheekbones were high and her arched brows climbed, in shock, no doubt, but also in recognition, or even perhaps, curiously, in expectation. Staring, probing, he watched as her cherry-stained mouth opened as if to speak. But no sound came out, and it closed again, her teeth settling against the plump of her lower lip. There was something _off_; but he was too focused and too mesmerized by her to pull his thoughts together.

When she saw him eye her up and down, as if appraising her, it felt as though her heart would fly from her chest. He smirked, and she knew that he'd heard it. She knew about their senses and that no reaction of hers would go unnoticed. But before she had a chance to try to speak again, she blinked, and then suddenly felt a cold, tight grip on her hips. Faster than she could respond, wind raced across her skin as she soared through the air.

A fraction of a second later, against her back, Bella felt the hardness of the wood shelf and the chill of an exhaling breath against her skin. She gasped, feeling the air suck out of her lungs and her eyes snapped shut, waiting for him to end her. When she felt an icy hardness skim down her jaw, she peeked out, only to find him running his nose up and down the side of her face.

Edward's eyes clenched shut as her heat shot through his body. Everywhere his skin contacted her, he felt what he could only describe as a sparking vibration throughout his limbs. It was that same hum he had felt in her room. After that single punch of air from his lungs when their bodies connected, he stilled his breath again. Over and over, he ran his nose along her skin, tempting himself to inhale. The moment he did, he knew without question that she would be spent, and he didn't want to kill her here. _Not yet._ But the wet, smacking gurgle of her blood was so tantalizing, so alluring. Even without smelling her, his mouth watered and venom pooled on his tongue. A blush crept up her skin, testing every bit of his resolve. _So… perfect,_ his body sang.

She should have felt afraid, but inexplicably, she didn't. Instead, she felt something else, something akin to empowerment laced with some other unidentifiable emotion. As his skin gently – almost reverentially – glided across hers, Bella realized that he wasn't planning to kill her, at least not here. Gathering her courage and trying her best to ignore the barely audible, almost-purr coming from his chest, she wrapped her fingers around the tense and flexing cold muscles of the forearm and hand holding her hips up.

Steeling the tremors in her voice, she whispered, "It's about time you showed up."

.

.


	7. Immersed in Flames

**Immersed in Flames**

* * *

At the sound of her voice, his eyes shot open, widening in alarm. Not comprehending, his motions immediately halted, his nose just touching her cheek, and his muscles locked in place. Equally stunned by his reaction, Bella felt the frozen press of his fingers, and his thumbs suddenly dug too forcefully into her hips.

"What did you say?" Edward whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. The heat from her blush was astonishing; every part of him touching her felt as if he were being immersed by fire. She was so tantalizingly hot, and her breath rolling across his skin was blistering. It was indescribable – feeling her, touching her, hearing her pounding heart roar in his ears. The temptation to latch his mouth to her pumping jugular was almost overwhelming. But all of that gave way to startling confusion the second his ears picked up the soft, gentle timbre of her voice. The girl _had_ spoken, he was certain, but for a moment, he neither registered her specific words nor from where they'd come. _Did she think them? Or speak them?_ he wondered incredulously, thinking that just perhaps he'd imagined the purring vibration of her vocal chords.

Bella eyed the man pinning her to the shelf, trying to conceal her winces of pain. She was convinced that if she survived this day, fingerprint-sized bruises would form and blacken along her hipbones. But despite the discomfort, she couldn't help but look at him, at his face, with undisguised curiosity and appreciation. His eyes were mesmerizing, a deep, fluid jet-black – so black that she could not discern the outlines of his pupils from his irises. And those thirsty eyes were staring at her almost as if in shock, as if he were mystified and waiting for logic to return. For a second, she wondered if she'd actually spoken. His perfectly arched brows knitted together, creasing the flawless expanse of his forehead. He was thinking, puzzling.

Beneath her palm, she felt the corded muscles of his forearm roll and contract as if they were tight, coiled springs waiting to release. He was so cold and hard. This she remembered from her past with near perfect clarity; it was like being caged by an ice sculpture. Summoning her voice, she sucked in a deep breath and repeated her words from before. Her voice was little more than a soft, breathy murmur, yet she knew he would catch every word. "I said, 'It's about time you showed up.'"

Edward pulled away, stopping only inches in front of her. His eyes bored into hers and his face pinched in concentration. "Again. Say it again," he commanded, his voice rough and almost angry from tension. _Confounding!_ he nearly growled. His mind was spinning at the implications, never before having experienced the loss of his_ hearing_. Briefly, he wondered if she had done something to him to somehow disarm his talent. But a quick scan of the building told him that she had not. _But why can't I hear her?_

"What are you waiting for?" she muttered, meeting his stare with one of her own. Bella gulped and challenged, "Stop playing games. Either kill me or don't."

Suddenly, the pressure holding her up vanished and she felt the smack of the ground against the soles of her shoes. The fall, while short, was completely unexpected and she barely caught herself from stumbling headlong into the nearest shelf. When her wrist bent back too far, she cursed in pain and scrambled to right herself. "Christ, warn me next time, why don't you?" she snapped automatically, momentarily forgetting herself and her situation.

Edward's eyes widened and darted back and forth when he felt the feather brush of sharp wooden edges and leather bindings against his back. His hands splayed out behind him, quickly righting and preventing the stack from overturning from the force of his retreat. Never, _ever_ had he experienced a quandary of this nature. No one had ever blocked him and he was at a loss. And this woman's tone and words were nearly incomprehensible to him. He was dumbfounded, not knowing how to deal with this bizarre, _silent,_ yet exceptionally fragrant creature before him.

Shadows shifted and crept across the floor as the light from the overhead windows waned, but neither moved an inch, both frozen across from the other, both backed against their respective shelves, as far away from the other as possible within the confined space of the aisle. For what could only be described as an eternity, they eyed each other warily, accessing and cataloguing, neither knowing the next step in their strange dance.

Staring at him made her feel breathless, in fear, but in something else as well. It was too easy to forget that she was an arm's length from one of the most lethal creatures on earth, one that clearly wanted to feed. This man – this _vampire_ – was acutely beautiful, almost painfully so. Minute features stuck out, capturing her attention – the way a single rust-colored lock of hair, almost blond in the light, fell loosely to the side, just curling into his temple, the thick fringe of black lashes framing large, piercing black eyes, the graceful curvature of his bone-white fingers and hands, the drape of his crisply starched oxford – just a shade paler than his complexion – across lean yet defined shoulders, the angled taper of his waist. And she could smell him; his scent was completely unique and impossible to name. It was honey-sweet but it reminded her of sun-drenched days and blue-lit skies. This man was surreal; he was something that could only be conjured in dreams or in airbrushed magazines.

As she looked at him – staring unabashedly in what he could only frame as a type of fascination – her heart smacked a disjointed rhythm, an unrelenting, pounding cadence that seemed to traverse the distance between them and spear directly through his being and into his bones. This woman rattled him; it felt as though his body unwittingly tuned itself directly to hers, resonating with every sound or motion. It was disarming and unsettling how she affected him.

Edward couldn't quite fully make out her expression. She was thinking – clearly – but he still had heard neither a word nor a whisper. It'd been ages since he'd had to rely on his other senses, and it felt as though he were almost human. _Or perhaps just more like the rest of my kind,_ he corrected mutely. This girl's expression was so open; she made no effort whatsoever to hide the fact that she was appraising him. And she didn't look away or cower.

In study, her bottom lip – a succulent pink – jutted out slightly more than her top, giving her a delicate pout. It was distracting, though not so much as her eyes. It was almost as if the Cullens hadn't seen this woman at all. That ancient wisdom he'd picked out from their memories was an understatement. Her eyes – a vibrant sorrel with pale amber flecks – were alive and bouncing, exuding knowledge and intelligence, so unlike the normal boring flatness he always saw in the darker shades.

Her build was slight, standing just a head shorter than he. But so precisely had she fit in his hands, and her contours had been, unnervingly, almost puzzle-perfect against his. Captured in his palms, the curves of her hipbones had been smooth and rounded, soft and so warm. Beneath his fingertips, he had felt caution coursing through her body, yet she hadn't been rigid or tense. She'd felt almost as if she were relieved, like she had released a lungful of stale air and replaced it with fresh.

Isabella Swan should have run the moment she saw him from across the room. She should have been in tears and screaming, if not passed out from terror like any other human would have been having her knowledge. Yet she wasn't doing any of those things. The less savage part of him wanted to comprehend this enigma of a woman – this aberration – and understand how she could remain so calm under the eyes of a predator she clearly recognized.

When she noticed his brows lift in thought, as if he'd come to some realization, Bella feigned confidence and smirked, stunning him yet again, and said, "Well, you are certainly not like _my_ vampires. Do you not speak?"

Edward gulped back a mouthful of venom and his eyes narrowed. Once more, he tried in vain to access her thoughts. Her mind – a seemingly iron-clad vault – was at the forefront of his focus, somehow, inexplicably, replacing for a moment the remembered call of her blood and the thumping of her jugular. But those were there, too, the fragrance and pulsing that his entire being craved, churning in the back of his mind. Soon, he realized, he would be out of air, so he needed to act quickly if he wanted to keep her alive for more than two minutes.

His eyes flickered and he answered in a low, unconsciously seductive voice. Were she not in mortal danger, the velvety smoothness of it would have sent tingles of anticipation down her spine. "Yes, I speak, but it's not in your best interest at the moment. Come with me if you wish to prolong your life. Otherwise, I will gladly drink you here and now."

**~.~.~**

He had been staring at her for what had to have been an hour or more, perfectly silent, stone still, sitting on the couch across the room from her. A picture of refined ease, an ankle crossed the top of the opposite knee and his elbow propped casually against the armrest to his right. He'd yet to move but for his eyes, which even the distance away, she could see were freely roaming her face. It was disconcerting the way he studied her; he himself was almost impossible to read and his expression was as cold as his skin. He gave away nothing.

Bella, on the other hand, looked at everything around her, for the most part trying to discern where exactly she was. Before, after three years of battling mass transit as well as the masses themselves, she thought that she knew the city, but she was certain that she had never been to this particular area. They had walked blocks and blocks from the library, darting down side streets and lesser-traveled routes, all the while maintaining close proximity to shadow and shade. After the first twenty-five streets, Bella had started to lose count, and after forty, confused and turned around, she'd stopped trying. Eventually, it had all blended together into a sea of gray concrete, yellow steel, and blaring horns. Perhaps, they were somewhere in Chelsea or maybe even lower. Lost in the middle of New York was strangely reminiscent of the time she'd managed to lose herself on a camping trip in the California wilderness as a child. It made her feel helpless, yet in the same breath, bolder and even freer, like she had nothing to lose.

Other than the cause behind it, their journey could have been nothing more than a casual, albeit long, walk through the city. Despite the distance and harshness of his demeanor, this as of yet nameless man had been surprisingly patient with her slower speed, somehow understanding her human limitations. He didn't press her forward or push her to exhaustion. In fact, during the entire trek, he'd not spoken or touched her at all, but instead had quietly hovered like a satellite by her side at an even two feet away.

But now, he just stared.

The room was so unlike her apartment; her eyes were involuntarily drawn to the heavy, floor-length drapes obscuring the windows and the deeply-colored oils in ornate frames decorating the walls. Where hers was cool and light, lit by pale, neutral shades and open windows, this one was richer, luxuriant, and dark. All around, there were deep reds, burnt golds, and exotic hardwoods. And it smelled of tanned leather and spicy citrus. The furniture, as well as the furnishings, were grossly expensive, likely authentic Old European antiques, evident to even her untrained eye. Somehow, however, nothing here seemed to fit the man across the room from her. It was too dim, too opulent. _What do I know_, she thought. _God only knows how old he is. And God only knows where he's originally from._

By Edward's summation, watching humans was much like watching any lower species. Unlike his kind, they fidgeted and looked around, unable to claim true stillness. Likely, Isabella Swan was confused and scared, yet oddly enough, nothing in her demeanor told him so. It was frustrating not knowing, for the only comparisons he had were the reactions he'd seen before in other humans. She _should_ be terrified, he convinced himself.

Remarkably, he was the one who seemed to be afraid. Not of her, of course, but of what she represented. Just being in the same room with Isabella Swan was an almost impossible feat. The test to his restraint was simply staggering; every minute that he sat in her presence was torture, a torture he did not have to endure. One he _would not_ endure for long.

But the girl's silence was so intriguing, a riddle that he mysteriously felt compelled to solve. Caius would call him arrogant and say his ego would not bear the assault of being stymied by a mere mortal, but Edward was certain that Aro would understand his hesitancy and delay. Decided, he would pick apart her closed mind first. Then he'd meet his masters' commands. More significantly, he would give in and taste – or rather, _cherish_ – her flavor, and finally ease the scorch in his throat. _For as long as I can keep her breathing_, he added, barely suppressing a smile of anticipation. But just thinking of her flowing blood – of licking it off her hot skin – was enough to flare the flames. A shiver rolled down his spine. How he'd keep her alive, he didn't know. Once he started, stopping would be incomprehensible.

And the damnable woman kept taunting him, almost as if she were his own personal demon of torment. Every time her head swiveled back to face him, when their eyes would lock, her skin would heat and flush and her heart would thump in his head. It was excruciating. Had any of his brothers been sent, she'd have been dead long since. For none he'd encountered, except, perhaps, Carlisle Cullen, boasted his level of control. Even Aro himself had succumbed nearly instantly to the blood call of his _singer_.

"What's your name?" Bella quietly asked, her eyes flashing up to meet his. That strange tug in his chest pulsed and her heartbeat echoed inside his granite body.

Without thinking, he answered, his lips just barely moving, "Edward."

Despite the chill of his response, her eyes warmed and a small, uncomfortable smile threatened her lips. Her words came out stunted and forced, and her intent was completely indiscernible. His stare fixed to her mouth, watching each syllable come to life.

"That's a… nice name. An old name. How old-, no, never mind." Bella's gaze faltered and her head dipped toward the floor, once again unable to meet the intensity of his probing gaze.

His teeth gritted and his voice sounded strained. Speech would not come easily, but he knew that it would be the fastest way to unravel her silence. "One hundred and nine."

Tentatively, he sipped the air. As he knew it would, her scent was unsurpassed in its draw, ripping through him with a force that nearly knocked him backward against the cushion. Every breath, no matter how slight, felt like razorblades slicing him from stomach to chin. Even his nostrils burned. His body clamored for him to take her now, to quench the fire, to experience the unparalleled rapture he knew would come from her blood.

Seemingly oblivious to his agony, Bella merely nodded, no differently than if he'd said he was twenty-four. In a hoarse whisper, she asked, "Why are you staring at me like that? How did you know about me?"

"You're quiet," he answered, swallowing back the venom. She was more than quiet. Disturbingly, he recognized that it was almost pleasant not hearing her thoughts. It was a novelty, a challenge. It had been a long time since he'd been faced with anything of the sort. As Volturi, too often, opposition merely cowed and retreated. Again, he was taken aback by his situation. Here in this room, in the form of this tiny, delectable human, his talents were affronted and made useless in a way the likes of Jane could only dream.

"What?" His answer made so little sense. Incredulous, she asked, unable to contain a fleeting flicker of annoyance, "What does that even mean, 'You're quiet'? What would you have me say? You've essentially kidnapped me and apparently, you want to kill me!"

Involuntarily, his brows arched and a short, dry chuckle escaped his lips. "You have a temper. You're either very brave or very foolish."

That last bit of adrenaline that had carried her through the streets fueled her rebuttal. Bella's eyes flashed and her lips pursed. "Would you have me screaming and crying? Or trying to escape? I think we both know how fruitless that would be."

"That would perhaps be… expected. You, however, Isabella Swan, do not to seem to adhere to any of my expectations."

Bella couldn't help but notice that his eyes seemed to shift. Now they were a deep burgundy, like a dark, full-bodied merlot. "What does that mean?" she asked again. "Why me?"

Edward's eyes snapped shut as another wave of fire rippled down his esophagus. "When I said you are quiet, I meant exactly that. I hear people, both their inner and outer dialogue. But for some reason, I don't hear yours – your thoughts. And I wonder why that is." A finger tapped thoughtfully against his bottom lip. "Let's call you a puzzle that I wish to solve."

"You hear people?" Disbelief colored her tone and her voice climbed in pitch.

"Yes."

"I don't believe that," Bella answered automatically, waving a hand in nervous dismissal. _Yet why would he lie?_ she rationalized. She'd long since been aware of the _special_ talents of his kind. If Alice could foresee the future and Jasper could manipulate the emotions of those around him, it was certainly possible that this man – Edward – could read thoughts.

For the first time since they arrived, Edward moved. In seeming indifference, he shrugged. "Fine. You don't have to believe me if you choose not to. But rest assured, the silence of your mind is the only thing keeping you alive."

"Why did you come for me? What did I do?" Bella asked, fear now steadily creeping into her voice. He was so cold and he spoke of her death as if it were a matter of _when_ and not _if_. This vampire was nothing like her Cullens.

Edward stared at her levelly. "I was sent."

A lump settled in the base of her throat and her stomach rocked. She could barely control the tremble of her lip. "By whom?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Ms. Swan. Let's not play coy; you're clearly more intelligent than that. Your discoveries are why I'm here after all."

"Volturi," she stated, knowing the answer just as he said she did. Unable to look away, Edward eyed her quivering form. The bravado she'd exhibited before had waned and there were the telltale signs of the fear he'd anticipated. She knew enough to fear his masters, but somehow, not enough to fear him as much as she should.

"Yes. You were playing with a brand of fire you can't begin to comprehend. Whether you realize it or not, we – the Volturi, _vampires_ – have certain rules. And you were dangerously close to our primary one. I was sent to _take care of the issue_, so to speak. It's simply my good fortune that you – or rather, your blood – is so… _appealing_."

"Appealing?" she stammered. Bella didn't understand what he meant. Searching back through her memories, the only reference point she had were the nomads she never met. But she knew that unlike _her_ vampires, their kind drank from humans; Alice had told her that much. Her veins suddenly flooded with ice water.

Edward laughed softly, his eyes alight in amusement. Were the topic of their conversation different, she might have laughed, too. "You have _no_ idea."

Bella nodded, barely controlling the sink of her stomach. Her fingers dug into the leather cushion, hiding underneath her thighs as if in effort to ground her in time and space. "You said you were sent to 'take care of the issue'. That means killing me?"

"Yes."

Her head cocked to the side and her brows furrowed, trying to piece it all together. "But you didn't kill me in the library."

Edward's lips curved up at the corners. "No."

"Because you want to understand why I'm silent to you?"

"Yes," Edward chuckled. This woman's mind was fascinating. He wondered if any other human he'd encountered would have had the fortitude to engage in such banter. Her heart, while slightly accelerated, was within normal tempo, a steady thump followed by the gush of blood through the valves.

Bella glanced down, studying the meandering pattern of wood grain on the wide planks of what she guessed to be hickory or some other hardwood flooring. Still not looking up, she muttered, "You're still going to kill me… once you… understand?"

His answer was swift and succinct, leaving no room for ambiguity.

"Yes."

.

.


	8. Woven in Webs of Deceit

**Woven in Webs of Deceit**

* * *

"Patience, my brother," the taller man soothed. "After so many years, you are still so eager. Trust me."

Glass-smooth, his voice was bright and musical, crooning with the singsong cadence of millennia past, the rich, pure predecessor of the diluted mimicry of the present day inhabitants of his city. Much like his regal stature and squared shoulders, draped in black, brocaded finery, his tone exuded a confidence, a surety and unwavering buoyancy that could only be borne of long-held, absolute power and command. Opaque, crimson eyes, glowing brilliant blood-red in the dim light from the nearby gas lamp, bored into another pair of equally crimson irises, worn by a man of equal power and place. A contest of wills, neither looked away, both locked in position by their most ancient of civil rivalries.

The opposing vampire bared his teeth and hissed in frustration, his shock of snow-white hair shaking with indignation. "You say 'trust', Aro, yet you harbor your own secrets, believing that you rule alone. I have my suspicions. Even _Marcus_ suspects."

Leaning away, avoiding Aro's roaming hand and invasive mind, Caius continued, "And I do not possess your level of faith in the youngling. We should have heard from Edward regarding his mission. His task was child's play. That girl should have been disposed of by now."

Centuries had taught Caius that his fellow king claimed far more than he possessed. As always, Aro believed his ulterior motives – Edward's second charge to investigate Carlisle Cullen and his coven – to still be his secret alone, but Caius had his own covert byways and back alleys for gathering information. He knew of Aro's deceit before the boy had even reached the Guard's wing after his departing from his summons.

Aro's expression hardened, an almost imperceptible flex of the jaw and clench of teeth, an icy ire brewing just beneath his composed façade. "Caius, calm yourself. You speak of that which you do not know, _cannot_ know. The boy is stretching his legs. He's been caged by these thick walls far too long; his mind was weary. You forget that he is still young, the youngest of our guard, yet he has tremendous potential and talent. You cannot understand that kind of strain. Edward needs to run and to learn to employ the power of his station. Alone. He will return, without a doubt, and he will have completed his task."

Inside, Aro was fuming, outraged by the affront. Caius had always been too small-minded and pedestrian, adept in rigid, thoughtless enforcement but little else. Focused solely on the pitiable human girl, had he told him of the Cullens, Caius would have been incapable of seeing the potential, the treasure just waiting to be plucked and polished. His brother had no capacity for innovation or foresight. It was he – Aro – who had brought greatness and power to their kind. And he was the one who welded the true authority; Caius and Marcus were but appendages at his mind's sway.

Caius sneered and countered, "You cannot know that, Aro. Unlike your precious witches, Edward is not even yours. I think you overestimate your control over the boy; he is a loose cannon – has always been – and what little fuse remains is quickly burning down.

"And do not think for one moment that I'm unaware of your _other_ ambitions."

It was clear that Aro was fishing for new meat for the guard, more jewels for his crown, and as rumor had come through that a fortuneteller now held with Cullen's coven, it had simply been a matter of time before he began positioning. Aro and his insatiable need for _more_ was more predictable than the sun rising in the east. Caius did not need Aro's gift to know his intent; talents were power, and nothing could be greater than virtual omniscience. For with Edward and this seer as weaponry, nothing would stop him, and those few weak, lingering foes would be wiped out, rendered to nothing more than spent gray embers.

The breach – this human girl – meant too little to Aro, so lost in his own conniving and collecting. She was merely the pawn in Aro's larger game of power plays and politics, a poorly concealed excuse to loose the hounds. Caius, on the other hand, knew the risk she posed; after all, was it not he who had been the one to deal with all of Aro's oversights in the past? It was he who maintained the laws that Aro seemed all too willing to overlook or bend; it was he who was the backbone of their strength and might. The Volturi were feared because of him. Seething, Caius thought that Aro would do well to remember who cleaned up after whom.

Aro's brow lifted, a delicate shift of chalky white features, and a tinge of menace encroached in his tone. "You question _my_ talents, Caius?"

Caius glowered across the empty space between their thrones, each chair gilded with equal stones and standing at equal height, and he spat, his own ancient inflection tarnished with mockery, "No more than you question mine, _dearest_ Aro."

**~.~.~**

As night fell, Caius strode through the shadowy tunnels, his black robes billowing and whipping behind him, dark clouds rolling across a darker sky. Those he encountered cowered away from his baleful glare and purposeful gait, knowing better than to cross him or question his unexpected presence in the lower mazes. It had been centuries since that mistake had been made last, but its effects were lingering, an undertone that colored any interaction that involved the pale-haired king. Memories of screams could still be heard, crashing and ricocheting off the limestone.

Inside the small anteroom, a quiet space buried deeply enough in the ancient human catacombs that none could hear, Demetri awaited his master's arrival. When he heard the faint click of heels and pad of leather soles, he stood at perfect soldier attention, a straight-lined and lean marble effigy of his life long since left behind.

"Demetrios," Caius greeted, stepping across the threshold. Assessing his favorite's deferential stance, he smiled, his thin lips curling up slightly at the corners.

Demetri bowed his head in supplication, the sharp point of his chin pointing to the stone floor. A square of white light glanced off the shined leather of his boot. Softly, yet fervently, he answered, "Master."

It was a shame that Aro had reached him first, that Demetri was merely an adopted son, not bound by venom's chain. Foolishly, Aro only saw his talent as a tool of the guard; he failed to acknowledge Demetri's greater gifts: intelligence, obedience, and unwavering respect for law. Extending his arm, Caius grazed the top of Demetri's head, his bony fingers brushing through the man's dark hair with familiar fondness.

Their time was short; were Caius to be missing from his position for long, tongues would wag and Aro would whine and demand disclosure. In contrast to his actions, his tone was sharp, clipped by impatience and irritation seeping through. "Have you summoned Felix as I commanded?"

Glancing up, the warmth from his Master's affectionate touch dissipated as Demetri met a hard, piercing stare, a stare of which he was both fearful and expectant. "Yes, Master. I sent for him immediately upon your order. He will return by tomorrow at the latest."

Drawing away, Caius stared at a delicately hewn, bone-white statuette of a woman and child, almost glowing in the dark niche in the wall. It was of Grecian craft and old, at least matching Demetri's age. Without asking, he knew it to belong to Demetri, one of the few items he had carried into his new life, a reminder. They all had their reminders, small tells of who they'd been before.

"That will do. You have my other orders?"

With all his strength and restraint, Demetri suppressed a visible flinch, now knowing that what he'd hoped was misunderstanding was indeed not. "Yes, Master. You wish that we locate Edward." Cautiously, he asked, "What would you have us do if we find him?"

Blood-red eyes suddenly flashed pitch. Caius spun on his heel and growled, "If you find him? 'If' is not acceptable, my boy. You _will not_ disappoint me, do I make myself clear?"

Demetri shrank away from the sudden display of wrath. The intonation was clear; he was perilously close to the knife's edge. "I-, I misspoke. Forgive me, Master. _When_ we find him, what would have us do? We are at your order."

The spring released and Caius's shoulders relented, his blaze of anger abated by the balm of fearful correction and entreaty. Tapping a finger against his chalky lower lip, he considered the query. "You will contact me and only me. Likely, you will do nothing but follow his actions and then bring him back here if he does not return on his own. But if the situation warrants, you know what must be done."

Demetri's eyes widened, incredulous at the command. Edward was a chosen one, a crowned prince amongst princes. Such had been done in the past, but the execution of a fellow guardsman was unthinkable. Even more so, if such could be said amongst their kind, they – he and Edward – were friendly companions and even allies inside these walls, both reasonable and civil. There would be at least some measure of personal pain if such came to pass.

Seeing apprehension crumple Demetri's stone features, Caius's expression softened and he explained, careful in his words, placing them precisely to instill the right measure of suspicion and offense. "I fear our Edward is too easily corrupted, too weak. Or worse yet, he is failing in his mission and fears the rightful retribution. Neither will be tolerated; you, Demetrios, my most favored, you know that neither is acceptable by law. Our kind cannot abide ineffective rulers. Aro has grown soft in his age and he coddles Edward as a pet more than a guard. I have not and I will not allow Aro's weakness and greed to destroy us piece by piece. You are Aro's, but you understand what is necessary. Nevertheless I must ask, where do you stand?"

Caius watched Demetri's reaction, noting the straightening of his back and tightening of his chest. A short breath expelled, sending out a wave of sweet olive and pomegranate. Eyes gleaming, Demetri whispered, "With you, Master Caius, of course, as does _your_ progeny, Felix."

"Your words and eagerness please me, my son. You are as much mine as your brother. As soon as he arrives, you are both to leave the city lest others discover your charge. We will allow Edward no more than a week, and then you will step in and take care of matters."

**~.~.~**

Through tinted glass, Bella watched the last remaining rays of yellow sunlight sink down between endless rows of steel and concrete. Hidden amongst man-built mountains, outside of their fragile bubble in time, it was prematurely dark, lit by glittering streetlamps and the still bright, squared windows of progress and capitalism. _Progress_, she thought sadly. _How little they know. How little I know... If I'd only had more time. If I'd only listened._

Lost in stopped time and space, she wondered if Angela was already traipsing across campus to Butler to cajole her with promises of coffee and snacks, thinking that like every other night, she was tucked away in her normal hideaway between the stacks. What would she say when she was nowhere to be found? Would she panic or call the police?

She wondered what her father was doing, if on this trip he had finally caught his elusive Bertha – a title he'd jokingly attributed to the _un_catchable. She hoped he was happy, that he'd found his calm and peace floating on the stillness of the lake. Quickly, she shoved that thought away, but not before a jagged dagger of sorrow stabbed her gut as she questioned if she would ever have the opportunity to say goodbye. And with that thought, an image of an easy-going smile and sun-lightened hair flashed across her waking dream; she hadn't spoken to her mother in weeks.

Edward shifted, a subtle uncross and recross of his ankle, an unnecessary but intentional movement, sounded by the soft creak of the stiff leather beneath him. Curiously, he observed the lack of response in the woman across the room; it was almost as if she'd forgotten his presence or had gone into some form of delusionary shock. For more than an hour ago, the girl had quieted, her speech seemingly dampened by the settling of night, and her eyes had fallen away from his.

Curled up in the corner of the opposite sofa, her knees pressed against her chest. Not only silent, she was strangely still, almost all of her human fidgets and movements halted. Her gaze was turned away from him, fixed to some unknown point beyond the window, such that from his vantage, he could see only half of her face. In the lamplight, her skin was luminescent, a warm creamy alabaster, so similar yet so different from his own stark white.

At least in her reflection, her heart had calmed to a slow, rhythmic drumbeat, a rapping echoed softly by the cadence his mind had composed. With the girl's head turned away, exposing the long span of her neck, it was difficult not to stare at the jump of her skin, that minute lift and fall directly above her jugular that only a vampire could discern. Every time he allowed his eyes to fix to that spot, venom dripped down his throat and without permission, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips in anticipation. In every way, no matter her actions or response, she was so tantalizingly tempting. _Kill her now!_ a silent voice roared, stoked and angry by his delay.

"What are you thinking?" he asked abruptly, frustrated by her continued silence but more so, needing a distraction from her blood.

The break in silence, his voice just barely audible, startled Bella into awareness, vanquishing all thoughts of friends and family and what ifs. Her head spun around and their eyes locked once more. The red of his irises was so dark, like the skin of a ripened black cherry; even across the room, she felt his stare, an invisible force that once captured, held her gaze as surely as if he were physically restraining her.

"Does it matter?" she whispered as her heart rate ticked up in time, an almost violent clapping inside of her chest.

Edward smiled at the girl's attempt at sarcasm, noting the breathlessness of her whispered stutter. And her heart, how it sang… It was his own personal march, a symphony of thick, wet thuds and pulsing gurgles, a measured rhythm that called and demanded his body stand and take notice. How her body betrayed her. Thoughtfully, he noted, _Not so different from my own._

"Not particularly. But I'm curious…"

It was the way his head cocked, the amusement lighting his lips, that hint of a patronizing laugh; it was too much, galling that he could sit there so serene and detached while holding her life in his hands. Bella shook her head, incredulous and trying to bite back her anger. Under her breath, she muttered, "Oh, well, in that case, let me enlighten you…"

His smile widened to a grin, flashing a row of brilliant white teeth, ones that she knew could shred her body like wet paper. When she huffed in poorly contained exasperation, strangely, a second later, she watched his perfectly cut jaw grind, a grimace of what could only be pain fighting its way through his grin.

With a bob of his Adam's apple and between clamped teeth, he politely rejoined, "Please do, Ms. Swan. _Enlighten_ me, if you would."

"Fine," she spat, her entire face contorting beneath strain and desperate anger – anger at him, anger at herself, anger at not having said goodbye. Unable to stop them, hot, salty tears spilled and steadily streaked down flaming hot cheeks. "If you must know, I'm thinking that despite your angelic countenance, you are cruel and sadistic. You hold me here against my will and place my head on the block, but you blind me to the axe. I'm waiting for it, but it doesn't fall. I sit here purely at your whim. What do you expect? If you want the truth, all I can think about is how I never had the chance to say goodbye to my father and mother and best friend. Does that answer your question, _Edward?_ Does that satisfy your _curiosity?_"

Edward's eyes widened, disbelieving of the fire and venom coloring her voice. Her fists balled until her knuckles were ghost white and they pressed down and into the leather cushion beneath her, exerting as much force as she could muster. The delicate tendons and muscles of her arms flexed, and her heartbeat turned into a raging stampede of throbbing blood. A wave of adrenaline-spiked perfume, heady and so heavenly sweet, crashed into him, drowning him in pure, unadulterated _smell_, rendering him speechless and writhing inside. His throat erupted into a hellfire inferno, climbing into his mouth and nostrils, licking and burning him from the inside out. Mimicking her strained motion, his own fists punched through his cushion and clawed into the spongy foam as a torrent of fresh venom coated his tongue and teeth. Every cell in his body screamed for him to take her.

Glaring, he rasped, "Isabella, why don't you step into the lavatory for a moment. Wash up. That… would be… prudent."

"Wha-, why?" Bella stammered, not understanding. His fists pummeling through the sofa scared her; she'd gone too far, pressed him too much. Something she had said or done had poked the bear beyond its comfort, and it was growling and on the verge of attack.

"Trust me, you need to compose yourself." He didn't have to add the 'Or I will not be able to control myself'. Those unspoken words hung in the air, unmistakable and undeniable. Because if she didn't escape the room that very minute, his body would surely break and he would drink her dry in seconds. And then he would forever be left with the vexing puzzle of her mind, and, more importantly, his _singer _would be spent.

Nervously, Bella rose from the sofa, eyeing Edward, watching the sharp 'v' of his brow line furrow deeper with each passing second. His face was hard, less collected than before, animalistic almost in the way his eyes followed her every movement, a predator stalking his prey. Those dark red irises had shaded again, as black as the darkest night, hard specks of coal against his ashen face. He was terrifying in his beautiful wrath.

As soon as she was out of the room, Edward raced to the window, throwing up the sash with frenetic force and gasping the fresh night air. Panting, he sucked in as much as his lungs could hold and exhaled, expelling her scent from his body, trying to rid himself of the insatiable need to feed. He could still smell her perfume, that too rich and too succulent aroma, for now his clothes and his own skin were painted with it. But at least cogency returned, and the red hot coals buried in his chest and throat turned to warm ash.

As he listened to the gush of running water, his mind replayed her words. She accused him of sadism and cruelty, and for some inexplicable reason, her words were haunting, filling him with some thick, coursing emotion that he could only name as _guilt_. It was unfamiliar, something dredged from the memories of humans he'd heard. But the disconcerting emotion was fleeting and it departed the instant he reminded himself that she was merely food, a blood source, _his_ blood and his alone. This human had been perfectly designed and born for him, calling and singing his name through blood, beckoning him to sink into the indescribable ecstasy that could only be reached through consumption. The only remorse he would feel would be when she was no more.

Inside the lavatory, Bella stared at the mirror, cursing herself for her moment of weakness and steeling herself to leave the safety of the small space. Shadows decorated the hollows of her eyes and a crease lined her forehead, signals that she was close to her edge. Cool trails of water ran down her heated cheeks and dripped from her chin, soothing the angered flush, calming her and settling her racing heart and frayed nerves. The neckline of her shirt was damp, a deep midnight against sapphire, only partly from sloughing water, more so from cold sweat. Training her gaze to the tray ceiling above, she counted down from one hundred, a soothing exercise learned long ago, and slowed her breathing. _Stall him_, she reasoned_. I need time. And maybe… likely not, but maybe… Maybe Alice will think of something. Maybe he will change his mind. Maybe I can change it for him. Maybe there is another option. Time…_

When she emerged, cautiously peeking around the corner, Bella found Edward sitting in precisely the same position as he'd been in when she had left. But something was off; the room was cooler now, more airy, and it smelled of outside, the pungent odor of the city mixing and tainting the room's pleasant spiced orange. The common stench of the street made the other that much sweeter, that much more luxuriant and exotic. Involuntarily, she inhaled, a deep breath that steadied her and grounded her in time and place.

With exaggerated slowness, Bella lowered herself to the sofa, reclaiming her corner as quietly as possible, the frightened mouse inching away from the deadly viper. Edward almost laughed at her trepidation, at her wide, soulful eyes and how she chewed the inside of her cheek. The scorch of her ire had been replaced with a peculiar look of thoughtfulness, a slight purse of her lips and arch of her brow. His earlier curiosity piqued once more, realizing that she was indeed thinking, plotting in some way. It was fascinating, not knowing and having to read her face, a distraction momentarily displacing the monstrous need to devour her.

When she looked up, the fire in his eyes had waned, replaced again by ice, and his jaw was smooth and at ease. He was marble, cut perfectly from a flawless stone, an airbrushed image of perfection. He betrayed nothing, the chilled façade squarely back in place.

Calmly, Bella met his wondering stare and softly asked, "What would you like to know?"

.

.


	9. Lost in Darkening Dreams

**Lost in Darkening Dreams**

* * *

"Tell me more," Edward commanded, leaning forward, intently staring at the girl balled up on the sofa across from him.

For the last six hours, he had done nothing but fling question after question in rapid-fire succession at this bizarre human. It was a vexing experience realizing how little he understood of humankind, despite his decades of existence in their world. It was clear that he had relied too much on their internal voices and had done too little in the way of true study. Edward reasoned that it was either that or that this woman was entirely other, devoid of normal human emotion and thought process. In that respect, she was utterly fascinating. For each answer begat a dozen more questions and clarifications, which brought him no closer to understanding her silence than he had been in the beginning.

Bella yawned and gazed across the room through drooping eyelids. Edward's elbows rested on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together. He looked almost human in his posture and even in his expression. It was the picture of contemplation, of study, and his curiosity was boldly written in the tight line of his lips and the pucker between his brows. She felt as though she were on display, a living, breathing human exhibit, no different than those she frequented in the museum on 79th. She despised the skin crawling sensation of being watched, of being scrutinized and prodded, but fear bordering on panic had stolen any sense of embarrassment or awkwardness she might have felt otherwise. But in truth, in the quiet early morning hours, after virtually no sleep, no sustenance, and so much strain over the last two days, that fear had already been displaced by numbness and sheer exhaustion. Consciousness was hanging on by a mere thread.

"Like what?" she slurred, fighting to stay cognizant, knowing that if she succumbed, she might never wake. "I don't know what more you want to hear. Ask me."

Edward's eyes narrowed, trying to name the inflection in her speech, a withering sarcasm marred by fatigue and something else. Her defiance was almost comical; the very concept of a human provoking a vampire was ludicrous. Without even grasping what she was doing, Isabella defied him, challenged him, by doing nothing more than chattering away time, badgering him with her own questions. She was intelligent and was remarkably calculating; Edward knew that she was stalling, pushing to delay the inevitable. And for the time being, he was content to allow it, finding himself absorbed by her mind's inner workings. But hour-by-hour, thwarted by her own human weariness and frailty, her heart's cadence waned, fading and shifting from the swift, thundering staccato that literally vibrated his entire being to a slow, steady, echoed thud.

He didn't answer her retort, instead choosing to watch her drift into unawareness, wholly intrigued that her mind allowed her to relent in his presence, even considering her human needs. In a natural instinct of self-protection, her body curled into itself, forming a tight, defensive fetal position, and leaned against the cushioning arm beside her. Strangely, in direct opposition to her body's smarter senses, her head lolled to the side, sluggishly rolling back and forth against the back cushion until it found its place, leaving her bare neck open and exposed. It was almost as if that pale swath of translucent flesh dared him to attack.

The throb of her sleeping pulse was intoxicating, sensual and swaying, calling him to approach and to take. With every breath she took and expelled, waves of heat and perfume rolled across the span between them, lapping at the edge of his control. Hours in her presence had not cooled the bonfire in his throat; it still burned and clawed with ferocity he could never hope to describe. But concentrating on her words and particularly on those she chose _not_ to say – editing – had kept his beast at bay. Undistracted, however, now it was impossible to ignore the rhythmic slosh of blood pushing through her heart's valves. Why he didn't kill her now, he wasn't certain, but a quiet, whispering voice inside told him to tread softly, to do that which his basest of instincts opposed.

Edward closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, painful breath, lighting his esophagus on fire in masochistic rapture. It was foolhardy to wait, he knew, not to mention unnecessary. No closer to unraveling the mystery of her silence than he was before, Edward's poor attempts at rationalizing were but mere excuses. Nature mocked him by granting her silence. It was a gift, or a curse, that simply _was_; he doubted the cause would ever reveal itself, no matter if he hounded her for months. Not that he could resist that long in the first place.

"So rich," he whispered under his breath. His tongue darted out and raked across his bottom lip, tasting the hint of her scent that filled and painted the room. He could even taste her perfume on his own lips, and suddenly, that quiet, beseeching voice silenced under the roar of her siren call.

For the thousandth time, flooding his mind came too-vivid images of slicing her throat open, his teeth cutting through pillowy tissue, veins, and pulsing arteries. His fingertips burned from the sensation of her flesh bruising, breaking beneath them as he held her up and stilled her flailing limbs, crushing her soft body to his. A gush of hot, velvety liquid spurted on his tongue, filling his mouth with the most succulent drink on heaven and earth. Strong and alive, her heart raced, pumping mouthful after mouthful down his throat. The visions were so real, dreamed in the crystal clarity only a vampire can experience, that he was left dizzy, nearly delirious in anticipated bliss.

Restless, Bella shifted, her legs uncurling and stretching out along the length of the sofa. A soft, murmuring sigh broke the stillness of the room as she rolled to her side. Long and loose, tendrils of mahogany curled around her throat, dark silken fingers caressing the very skin he wanted to pierce. His shaded eyes roamed her body and traveled up to her face, noting the relaxed line of her jaw, the gentle part of cherry-stained lips, the high arch of delicate porcelain cheeks. It was impossible not to look at her, for every cell in his body was on high alert, tied and trained to her every move.

Staring, Edward inhaled again, fanning the flames, pushing his tolerance to its very limits. His body shook, quivering with the need to touch, to taste, and to consume. With every breath, the intensity grew, expanding, ballooning until coherency distorted, so close to slipping.

He wanted her now, that strange, quiet voice be damned. His jaw clenched and his teeth gritted. He _would_ have her now. Soundlessly, Edward sprang off the sofa and in a blur, crouched down beside Isabella's sleeping form.

She was so warm and so tantalizingly fragrant, impossible to resist. Her breath slammed him in the face and he unthinkingly leaned forward, venom moistened lips but inches from her bare throat. He sucked in the saturated air, igniting his entire chest and upper body. The thud of her heart seemed to resound at his proximity, a deliberate hammer's strike pounding in his ears, rattling his bones. Lying there, prone, she was exposed, completely weak and helpless before him, the perfect supplicant prey. All he had to do was latch his mouth to her neck and drink, and his torment would be past.

Barely touching her skin, he repeated his action from the library, gliding his nose along the smooth angle of her jaw, the tip of her chin, the milky column of her throat, inhaling and scorching his senses.

_Sublime_, he sighed, pausing and nuzzling just below her ear. His mouth swamped with venom as his lips parted. _Just a taste… _

"No," she whispered.

His body froze, stunned and locked in place, his mouth hovering just over her thumping pulse point.

_Is she awake?_ he wondered. He swore he heard her speak, yet her heart rate had not altered, had not sped, and no hint of fear or adrenaline tainted the air.

Isabella was _dreaming_. Her breath tickled across his skin and ruffled his hair, prickling his scalp. Everything in that moment was supersaturated, intensified, and time's progression seemed to halt.

"Please, not yet. I don't want to die," Bella murmured.

Edward's eyes widened as his bloodlust ebbed. Momentarily diverted, he pulled away from her, settling back on his haunches on the floor beside her sleeping form. He watched, captivated by the movement of her lips, silently waiting for more unprotected words.

Behind closed lids, Bella saw violent, flashing images, flickering snippets of time and place moving so swiftly she could barely keep pace. Her stomach churned, nauseated and sick from the spiraling, warped reality. It was a dark, spinning carnival ride that wouldn't seem to slow.

She saw herself tumbling down a steep, rocky ravine, disappearing into blackened brush and bramble. Long, razor-sharp thorns tore at her skin, ripping and snagging, but her lips would not open to scream. Her body was so worn, broken, and tired, unable to rise, barely aware. Flat on her back, she ignored the sharp rocks digging into her skin and she struggled and fought with her stubborn limp body.

When Bella lifted her eyes to the sky, resigned and spent, the clouds above rolled, angry and dark, and clapping thunder shook the earth beneath her. Her vision lost focus, bleary and weak, as a veil of crimson stole across the horizon, blanketing all above.

A cool wind whipped across her shoulders, pebbling her skin, and the sparse hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Death approached, cool and swathed in robes of night. A bone-white palm reached out across the distance and kissed her cheek, soothing almost, lulling her toward her end, coaxing her into submission. He called to her, cooing and sighing her name as a man would his mistress.

_No,_ she begged, as she heard her father's voice. _I haven't said goodbye._

Faces of friends, of family – of _vampires _she hadn't seen in years – flitted, their eyes meeting hers in pleading, each one demanding that she not relent, demanding that she refuse Death's beckon. Alice's voice was strongest, her singsong soprano shouting in her ear, commanding – _ordering_ – her to resist, to fight. _He hasn't decided yet_… she chanted. _Not yet…_

Bella turned her face, staring up at the shadowy wraith. Bleak night crept around her, its edges dancing and unfurling, blacking out all but him, and all warmth left her presence. Trembling, she lifted her hand, palm outward in defense. _Please,_ she spoke. _Not yet. I don't want to die._

His advance stopped. In the breeze, his cloak billowed and cracked, nipping and snapping at her ankles. A shrouded face looked down at her and then cocked to the left in study.

"Why?" the wind whispered.

Her chest pounded and her breathing caught as his hood fell around his shoulders. Above her, a man stood, brilliant and blinding, his face as white as fallen snow and his irises blood red. Her eyes narrowed as his lips twisted up into a smile. He was so familiar, yet so foreign. But she _knew_ him. She had _always_ known him. Deep in the well of consciousness, buried in bone and blood and psyche and soul, she _recognized_ him.

_Because I won't let you take me,_ she answered, sure and steady. _I'm not yours to take._

His smile turned into a snarl and his eyes hardened. Icy wind blasted across the black space, chilling her to the bone, yet she made no move to cower. She was not afraid of him.

"You are mine," he growled, ashen hands curling into strained, shaking claws. Fury played across his features and crimson eyes burned into hers.

_No, Edward, you're wrong_, she countered. _You're mine._

~.~.~

It was late morning when she rose, stretching and straightening tense, sore muscles and joints. Light streamed into the room, filtered through sepia tinted glass, bathing the space in a pale, golden glow. Below, tens of stories down on street level, horns blared and trucks rumbled, muffled by distance and thick walls of brick and mortar.

Cautiously, Bella lifted her head and looked around. She was alone and briefly, she wondered if she'd dreamed everything from the night before, that she really hadn't been stolen away, that this room was some figment of her imagination.

"I'd forgotten how much sleep humans required," Edward called from the doorway.

She'd slept for so long. Countless times he'd been tempted to wake her, but each time he approached, her lips had trembled and his patience and resolve had been put to the test. He wanted to know what she saw when she dreamed, what had prompted her to utter such nonsensical words.

"You're mine," she had rasped as his fingers danced across her wrist, stroking the throbbing vein.

Yet when she spoke, his body thrummed in some primal acknowledgement, a purring warmth, almost… _pleasing_, despite the burn in his chest. He told himself that it was nothing, some aberration; it was something that he'd conjured while deep in his bloodlust. Or perhaps, it was merely the hum of her blood, the singer's call, a perfectly crafted resonance to which only his body could tune.

Bella started, bolting upright from her position, immediately folding her knees to her chest in defense. Hesitantly, she glanced up and saw that he was staring fixedly at her, his face lit in a careful mask of forced ease. Softly, she muttered, "You didn't kill me."

Edward's brow arched at her odd choice of phrase and he sipped a careful, burning breath. "No, it would seem not."

"Why?" she breathed, insecure and confused.

A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, but quickly disappeared. "Are you really asking me why I chose not to drain your blood last night?"

His voice was light, almost teasing, but a wildness coursed beneath. Snapping his teeth, Edward fought the barrage of images that accompanied his words, knowing that coupled with the now-racing beat of her heart, he would be unable to withstand the temptation were he to allow himself that moment of weakness. And he didn't want that just yet.

Picking at the fringe of her hem, Bella sighed and responded a quiet, "Yes."

Edward's lips twitched again, bemused and fascinated, and the flames receded. "I was listening to you. You appeared to have been dreaming most of the night. I'd like to know what all that was about. I'm _curious_."

Fading remnants of images and people fluttered, but nothing solidified into true memory. Bella only recalled fear and pain and then, something else, some shift that turned the axis of her dreamscape on end and caused her fear to retreat.

"I don't really remember," she answered truthfully, chewing her lower lip in thought.

"Stop that," Edward snapped, glaring pointedly at her mouth. Crimson darkened to near black, and the corded muscles of his neck stood at attention and flexed. Continuing, he growled, "If you have any sense of self-preservation, Isabella Swan, you will not make yourself bleed."

Her eyes shot wide in instant comprehension. Quietly, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Edward glided across the room, pausing in the center. He turned almost warily, his fists balled at his sides. Were it not for his stillness and innate gracefulness, Bella would have thought he looked uncomfortable or uncertain of the words he wanted to say.

"You eat, correct?" The hardness in his voice had departed, replaced by something softer, more melodic.

Bella's brows knitted together, not understanding the purpose of his strange query, nor the shift in tone. "Yes…" she answered, more as a question than a statement.

"You should fix something for yourself so that you don't starve," he continued, waving an arm haphazardly toward what she assumed to be a kitchen. He wasn't sure how to proceed, as he wasn't sure what humans needed. If she refused to eat, he certainly had no recourse, but the sudden, inexplicable flashing image of a sickly blonde girl, starved to bones and skin, huddled in a dark alleyway, tugged at his vacant chest.

"Why is there food here?" Bella asked, a spark of puzzled anger igniting. "What are you trying to do? Fatten me up before you kill me?" But her empty stomach gave her away, and Edward frowned sharply and waved his hand again.

Without speaking, she darted up and targeted the direction he pointed. Down a short hallway, she found a large, open kitchen, and upon inspection, she noted that its cherry cabinets had been recently stocked. She remembered other similarly filled cabinets from long ago. _Props_, Esme had called them, explaining their charade of humanity.

Edward remained in the center of the room, stock-still and staring at the mouth of the dark hallway. He was angry with himself, that he'd allowed a moment of weakness and inquisitiveness to dictate his actions. He should have ended her and his misery hours ago. His throat scratched and clawed, and even across the distance, his ears trained to the thump of her heart, each beat reminding him of his folly. He listened to the sound of breaking plastic and paper, of metal scraping against metal, and the rush of tap water pinging against steel. Moments later, the stench of human food wafted toward him, tainting the perfumed space.

_Why did I wait?_ he asked himself time and time again. Something about Isabella Swan's innocent defiance and bravery rankled his mind, obligating him to pause. As she'd slept, he'd watched in rapt attention, hearing words he couldn't quite piece together without her mental context. But he understood their intent, and that was far more than he'd gleaned from her waking answers, in which she hid the truth in half-lies and omission. In fear, she'd cried her father's name, her roommate's, and then, she'd gasped the name _Alice._

The link with the Cullens was something he truly could not comprehend. There was no doubt that this human loved them and thought of them – _vampires_ – as friends, as family even. It – the notion of family – was so unfamiliar, so unlike everything that he knew. It flew in the face of his century of existence and subservience. He felt something akin to envy, that they, even this girl, possessed a freedom he'd never been permitted.

And then, compounding his bewilderment, she had dreamed of him, stunning him by calling out his name over and over again, sometimes as if in pain, at other times as if driven by some warmer emotion he did not recognize. That alone had driven him as near to madness as the sweetness of her blood.

After several minutes, Bella walked back into the living room, carrying a small plate of what Edward understood to be eggs and some form of meat. His nose crinkled in revulsion, strangely irritated that her essence was now polluted. But if she were to live for any length of time, sustenance was a necessary evil.

"I take it you're not a fan of bacon?" Bella asked, noticing the grimace Edward made no attempt to hide.

Dryly, Edward returned, "Not in particular. But then anything you could cook would likely smell atrocious to me."

A nervous, tentative chuckle broke the silence. She looked up and their eyes met. "You sound like Emmett."

This was the first time she had mentioned the Cullens and he was consumed with wanting to know why, now of all times, she deemed it appropriate. "I'd hardly trust the Cullens' judgment on taste," Edward returned coolly, reminded of their unnatural choice in diet. How they could stomach animals, even the larger predators, was beyond him.

Sorrel eyes flashed and heated, and in poorly disguised anger, she argued, "They don't kill people."

Edward nodded, surprised by the venom simmering in her voice.

"Why do you?" she asked abruptly, dropping her fork. Metal clattered against china.

He thought for moment, amused by her interest, or more so, by the accusation underlying her query. He shrugged and said simply, "We're predators. Humans are our food source."

"You were human once," she opposed.

"Yes," he answered. "That's irrelevant."

"Don't you feel guilt?" Bella returned, feeling her chest expand and contract. _How many lives had this man stolen? How many had he murdered?_ she wondered, her mind reeling at the implication.

Edward pondered her question and his thoughts spun back in time to the countless feasts, to the rivers of blood and gore and screaming minds. He felt the sinking hollowness of being enclosed by stained walls and blood-soaked floors. He heard their whimpering cries, he heard his brothers' ecstasy, and he saw the faces of innocents he'd consumed.

"That, too, is irrelevant."

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **The "museum on 79th" referenced above is the American Museum of Natural History (a place I truly love and adore) and it's located in New York City at 79th and Central Park West. If you get the chance, I'd highly recommend checking it out.


	10. Fated to Bleed

**Fated to Bleed**

* * *

"Carlisle, what have we done?" Esme choked, burying her face in starched, white cotton. Her body shook with inconsolable tremors and her eyes burned, stinging with the flood of tears that could never come. Desperate, she clung to him and breathed in, filling her lungs with the scent that always righted the world when it seemed tilted and broken. But instead of comforting her, the linen and sandalwood coming off of his stone flesh merely reminded her of their failure, and her knees buckled under the strain.

Carlisle wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her as tightly into his chest as he had strength, trying, but not really knowing how, to relieve her tearless sobs and to hold her together. All he could muster were soft, shaky shushes because in reality, he felt like crumbling and was barely managing to stay upright himself. A thick knot settled at the base of his throat, stifling and suffocating his breathing. Forming actual words seemed to be impossible, unfathomable – as if he could think clearly enough to voice them anyway. The explanations and excuses they'd built years ago were now meaningless and hollow, and the entire family was sinking in the bogs of remorse and regret. And he had allowed it all to happen.

"I just don't understand why we can't go get her! I'll kill him myself!" Emmett growled, launching himself off the sofa in a burst of fury, frustration, and helplessness. Less than a second later, with a splintering crash, the nearest end table exploded against the far wall, and shards of wine-tinged rosewood rained down.

But no one moved. No one said anything, for they all were thinking the same, each one battling their own need to destroy something on Bella's behalf. The instinct was so strong, so visceral, pulling to act, to protect the girl they'd loved as their own and then foolishly abandoned under the pretext of her safety.

With no one to stop him, Emmett paced the room, a whiplash blur of denim and white, snarling curses and venom. The thick, corded muscles of his pale arms were drawn tight, standing out and rippling with each clench and unclench of his fists. Rosalie watched, mute and drowning, as her mate sped back and forth, not knowing how to contain him or soothe him.

Over and over, she replayed that tiny voice in her head that had betrayed them. Fear of losing them – her family, her Emmett, the only things worth anything to her in her immortal existence – had caused her to falter when she had desperately tried to hide her knowledge. For a split second, _Bella_ had come to mind under the cold scrutiny of that Volturi guard. Despite Alice's constant reassurances that her slip gave him nothing he didn't already know, the weight of her treachery was crushing.

Esme looked up and whispered, "You know we can't! Alice said…" Her voice broke and at the sound of her desolation, Rosalie buried her face in her hands as a fresh wave of nausea tore through her midsection.

The first rush of calm barely touched the tension saturating the air. Emmett's pacing slowed only slightly, and from across the room, Carlisle shifted and laid his cheek against caramel tresses. Carlisle's eyes locked with Jasper's, acknowledging the prick of relief and he mouthed a quiet 'thank you'. But that wash of peace wasn't for them. The heaviness, the sheer mass of fear and anguish, was almost more than Jasper could withstand, and he'd reacted in self-preservation as much as in aid. Because more than all the others, the piercing sorrow and terror emanating from the woman rocking in his arms was excruciating, debilitating almost. Frantic to quiet her and pull her from her daze, he pushed out a second blanket of calm, one strong enough to sedate an army of newborns, strong enough that it sent Emmett to his knees and bent Rosalie at the waist.

"No," Alice rasped as her body went limp. "I've got to watch, Jasper. I _have_ to watch."

Inside her mind, images flashed almost as fast as she could process them. It was so uncertain and the guard's mind had yet to settle on a course of action. Alice had watched her best friend die a thousand times and live only a handful. In some futures, she died quickly, almost painlessly. In others, her body broke but refused to die until drop by drop, the vampire with wild, dark copper hair drained her. The worst were in the beginning, when he'd kept her for weeks, ritualistically slicing her open, slowly bleeding her out. Bella's gurgling screams were earsplitting and Alice had nearly gone into convulsions. But they were helpless here, impotent, as they waited for something, for some answer, for one of those futures to cement, hoping that somehow, fate would permit that slim chance of survival. Because they had no other option; every time one of them decided to intervene, Bella died.

Jasper grimaced and anxiously swallowed, recalling with perfect vivid clarity Alice's chattering teeth and shuddering body as he held her last night. But he understood why she forced herself to look. So, layer-by-layer, he rolled back the tranquilizer until he felt Alice's body stiffen once more. Her lips immediately slackened, and her black, thirsty eyes glazed over as she stared at the picture of the dark haired human sitting on the coffee table in front of them, watching the future unfold.

Countless times, they all replayed the mistakes that had set them on this course. On a cloudy, gray-weather afternoon, they had arrived – three nomads, all wearing crimson for sight. The very gift that now held Alice in stasis had warned them of their arrival, and Alice and Rosalie had spirited Bella away in the nick of time. But the nomads still smelled her, detecting the thick, lingering cloy of her presence in their home. Their leader, a lanky, hard-bodied vampire with dirty blond hair caught her scent before they even walked through the door.

"_A human?" the one called James hissed, his eyes darkening with every breath. "Here? We were under the impression that you Cullens abstained. At least that was the rumor. I see that I was mistaken. Apparently, we were _all_ mistaken… Unless…?" An eyebrow arched and a wicked sneer spread across his lips. _

_A low, angry growl rumbled from Emmett's chest, loud and menacing enough that the nomads dropped to defensive crouches. Desperate to avoid a fight, Carlisle held his hands up in peaceable surrender and quickly motioned to his family, trying to calm them. _

"_Ah, yes," Carlisle started, loathing the words pouring from his mouth, but knowing that the lie was essential for Bella and for them. "We are not perfect. Regrettably, there was an _accident._"_

_James laughed, a cynical and mocking sound of dark amusement. "An accident? Is there such a thing? Pray tell, who amongst your coven couldn't live up to your rigid standards?"_

_Esme stepped forward, quickly glancing over to Emmett and placing her palm on the top of his shoulder. To outsiders, it looked as though she was soothing him, but in reality, her hand was there in restraint as she quietly answered, "Our daughter, Rose. Like my husband said, it was an accident."_

_The fire-haired nomad beside James narrowed her scarlet eyes and looked at the coven in front of her. In a high, too-sweet soprano, she cooed, "Such a shame. But where is Rose? Why is she not here with you at such an awful time?"_

_Carlisle inhaled and forced a friendly smile as his eyes darted to Jasper. "She's out hunting with our other daughter, Alice. They needed some time to themselves. To talk, you know, woman to woman."_

_The nomads' expressions were guarded, not believing the tale being spun. James chuckled, "Indeed. It's a good thing, though, Carlisle. My assumption was obviously in error. I thought that you might have taken on a pet, seeing as how you seem to love humans so much. And we all know that's against the rules. I'm glad I was wrong. It would have been a pity if word had reached Italy." He grinned and knowingly winked. _

The hidden words were there, laid out as clearly as if James had spoken them aloud. Their ruse had failed. After the nomads departed, the family fell apart, split down the middle, half saying to run, the other half shouting to stay. Fleeing won out, and in the dark of night, they vowed to do the only thing they could to truly protect Bella from the wrath of the Volturi, other than to change her: to disappear, to vanish such that there would be no trace linking them to her. But even that had failed.

"No," Alice cried, cringing into Jasper's chest. "No, no, no!"

**~.~.~**

"Where are you originally from?" Bella asked softly, as she wrapped a loose string tight around the top knuckle of her forefinger. As she uncurled it, she could feel the rush of cut-off blood coursing down through her finger and into the flat of her palm. It tingled, a faint sting of pain that diverted her mind from the tired ache spreading through her limbs. Her entire body was stiff; her muscles and joints screamed for movement after having been tensely locked for so many hours. Never had she been so still for so long. All day she'd sat, knees drawn to her chest, in her corner of her couch as she hoped to distract the vampire across from her, trying to buy time or maybe even to change Edward's mind.

Motionless but for his eyes, Edward roamed her face, still perplexed by the strange calm this human exuded. For hours he'd peppered her with random questions, devouring every scrap of information she provided. And for some reason, he'd allowed her to do the same. He humored her, despite knowing her intent; in truth, it was amusing that she believed that by chatting, she could fend off the inevitable.

But it felt strange – _different_ – conversing with someone other than his brothers, and more so because every word from Isabella's – or, _Bella's_, as she'd irritably corrected him – mouth was a surprise, never what he anticipated. For once, Edward had to pay attention, taking cues from tones and shifting features, and as much as he preferred not to admit it, conversation with her was mildly addicting. Of course, after those brief moments in which he managed to forget his thirst, it always came roaring back, a fire with a life and brute strength of its own, as if it were trying prove that the vampire inside would always have his way.

Coolly, Edward answered, watching for the telltale tics of her lips and eyes and brows. "Chicago. But I've spent almost a century in Italy."

Bella's brows lifted with the mention of Chicago. She hadn't told him that she had lived there herself for four years before moving to New York. She pondered just how different the city had been when he lived there. Bella wondered what his life had been like, trying to reconcile the sudden image of softer, fuller features decorated in early-century finery. But then she processed his second declaration – a century of life in Italy, in Volterra – and she questioned what _home_ would be like for a regiment of vampires. She didn't think that the Volturi lived like her Cullens.

"So, you've always been… what did you call it? A guard?"

His chin dipped slightly in acknowledgment, disarmed by the change in inquiry. The wheels were turning, but he couldn't see the direction. The word sounded strange coming off her lips, as if she disapproved. Automatically, his gaze flew from her face to the nearest table lamp, gilded and ornate, too similar to those that lit the dark limestone chamber where he'd feasted thousands of times. A whispering voice in the back of his mind startled him, coming to life and hissing the words he'd spoken the last time he'd killed in that room, _Mi dispiace… __Io sono il diavolo… _

Softer than before, Edward answered, "Always. Since the time I awoke. I remember very little from before that time. When my eyes opened, they opened to stone walls and dark tunnels."

Bella was shocked that he was so forthcoming. But hidden just below the surface, there was a hint of sadness or… _longing_ in his eyes and in the velvety timbre of his voice, a sense of quiet anguish that she couldn't explain. It reminded her of the emptiness that had consumed her for so many years. Propelled by the lapse in his façade, she pressed, "What is that like? Do you like your… job? Is that even the right word for it?"

Pulled from his moment of reverie, Edward couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. "I suppose you could call it a 'job', though it's more like indentured servitude. Once you are part of the Volturi, leaving is… not really an option." He glared at the floor and sighed, running his hand through his hair in an oddly human mannerism. "There have been a few, but it is rare and far between. Most of my kind would kill – _do kill_ – for a chance at my position." _Il Principe Della Notte_…

The longing Bella thought she'd heard was replaced by what could only be described as bitter irony. "You…you are like… a slave? You don't really have a choice?"

Edward snorted, both intrigued and annoyed by the accuracy of her acuity. "We all have choices,_ Isabella_, but choices inevitably come with consequences. For example, what we're doing now – _talking_ – is not really in my best interest. My assignment was to kill you and be done with it."

"So, if you don't kill me?" A lead ball dropped in her stomach.

Coldly, with precise articulation, he snapped, "I would not entertain that hope, if I were you. But hypothetically speaking, if I were to _choose_ to allow you to live, I would be hunted down."

"And?" Bella breathed, clenching her eyes tightly shut, walling up her pitiable defenses.

He tapped a finger to his bottom lip in contemplation. "I'm not one hundred percent certain, but if it were up to Caius and Caius alone, I'd be burned to ash for my disobedience. It's possible that even when I do kill you, if he were to learn of my actions beforehand, he'd order my death – just for this conversation alone. Ms. Swan, I don't think you've grasped the gravity of your _research_."

"Caius," Bella repeated as the rest of his words faded. She turned the name over in her mind and then again on her lips. She remembered that name. Faintly, buried in black ink and old parchment, she'd seen that name. "He's one of the three?"

Edward eyed her inquisitively, thawing, impressed that yet again that she'd unearthed so much about their world unaided. Carefully, he affirmed, "Indeed. Tell me, where did you come across this information?"

"Books. Mostly, _a_ book," she answered. "A book of paintings. It was… where I found Carlisle, too."

"Paintings?" Edward asked, incredulous. He gripped the armrest beside him too roughly and his fingers sank through the leather.

"Yes," she explained. "It was an obscure compendium – very old and very unused – filled with Solimenas and even older Pretis. There were portraits there – three men on thrones."

"You mean to say that you found out about the Volturi in a book of _paintings_?" Edward laughed. So quietly, she couldn't be certain that she heard him correctly, he mused, shaking his head in disbelief, "Their vanity knows no bounds."

"Not exactly, but that's where I found the faces," she murmured, unconsciously fingering through her hair. "_Re Della Notte_…"

Edward's laughter abruptly stopped. Hearing his thoughts echoed in her voice, lilting and hugging the words in an approximated accent, he sucked in a sharp, too-deep breath of perfumed air. Scorching, unrelenting heat tore through his nostrils and down his esophagus. His chest was ablaze, burning as hot as the fire of transformation. Wincing from the onslaught, he swallowed the gush of venom, trying to suppress the urge to attack.

Nervously, Bella watched as his eyes darkened, not understanding the near-instantaneous change in his demeanor. Even from across the room, she could see the black shadows inching across his sight, extinguishing blazing crimson. It was startling the way she could no longer distinguish pupils from irises, instead seeing only opaque rocks of coal set deep into snow white. She had seen thirsty vampires before, but never like Edward, never like this, and the low rumble in his chest turned her blood to ice water.

"What did I do?" she whispered, frightened that if she spoke too loudly, it would only provoke him more.

Edward's fingers curled into tight fists and his teeth gritted, biting back the wave of bloodlust. Had he a mirror, he knew what he would have seen. There was no question that he looked feral, like a starved cat eyeing the weak gazelle. For hours he'd withstood her fragrance, hours of sucking in the most enslaving substance in heaven or hell. And it had been too long since he'd fed. Normally, he could go for weeks between feedings if needed, but after so many hours of being submersed in the ambrosial redolence of flowers and copper and perfection, his strength crumbled, falling away bit by bit, leaving nothing but a skeleton of restraint.

"I need to feed," he rasped, as ash and fire scraped his throat.

Their eyes locked, black to sable, as a moment of terrified uncertainty passed between them. Bella's eyes narrowed as she processed the meaning of his words.

"Now?" she exhaled, reeling. Adrenaline spiked through her veins as she envisioned razor sharp teeth piercing her flesh. Every muscle in her body twitched with an unconscious pull of self-preservation, the need to flee so strong that she could almost taste her fear. But instead, a secret, normally silent part of her told her to sit stone still; it willed her not to run. In the roll of Edward's shoulders and flex of his fists, she recognized the alpha predator hidden in the face of humanity, and she saw the undeniable instinct to take down a weaker prey flash across his features.

Edward slowly rose from the sofa, his body uncurling and standing taller than he'd ever seemed. He looked stronger, leaner, menacing – absolutely lethal. With his dark clothes and lithe musculature, he looked like a panther ready to spring.

Bella could hear the wet rasp of her breath, shallowly pulsing through her nostrils. Like before, however, defying all logic, she could never deny that he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. It was almost hypnotic.

Watching his jaw tighten, deep in the pit of her stomach, buried beneath the immediate fear, a resonating chord struck, a humming thrum of recognition that she couldn't describe. In some twisted death wish, her fingers twitched, wanting to stroke his skin, to trace the hard lines of his face and the smudges of purple-gray ash in the hollows of his eyes. Her lungs longed to inhale his scent once more, recalling the chill and sweetness of his breath. Something, some flicker of an image – a dark hooded cloak, a shock of bronze on white – tickled her memory and a sliver of her panic retreated.

"Then do it," she goaded through clamped teeth, unexpectedly stretching her neck up and to the side in offering.

Edward's eyes shot wide and drew a bead to the rhythmic thump of pale flesh. Blurred by the tint of bloodlust, he saw a dozen emotions playing across her face, a mesmerizing symphony of unspoken and indecipherable feelings. He nodded stiffly but then shook his head, squeezing his lungs shut, afraid to speak. For if he breathed again, he was certain that he could never resist her. The urge to take her was stronger – if that were even possible – than it had been in the night when his mouth had hovered just over her pumping jugular. Only now the smack of her heartbeat was like a stampede in his ears, so loud and so fast that he could barely hear anything else over its chant. And he could _see_ it flowing. His tongue darted out, sampling the air, slick with venom and want.

But he wasn't through with her and his mind spun. There were thoughts behind her challenge that he couldn't read, and he wanted to know why her eyes suddenly warmed and why she drew her lip between her teeth. He wanted to devour all of her – mind, mouth, blood, and tears.

"Not yet," Edward growled, furious at her fearless taunt as he flung himself into the mouth of the hallway in a streaking smear of black, pale, and bronze. Back against the wall, hoarse from restraint, he grated, "Stay here, Isabella. Do _not_ bother running. You know that I can and will find you. It will make me very angry if you force my hand."

A soft click echoed in the room, loud and intrusive in the sudden stillness. Bella glanced around, dumbfounded and uncertain, not comprehending what had just occurred. As she replayed his words, hearing the gravel and grit marring its velvet, her skin pebbled and a shudder rolled down her spine.

Edward was gone. He left to feed.

Adrenaline and her confidence crashed with a deafening roar, and a relieved sob ripped through her chest as she realized that she was still alive and that she was alone.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Translations (Italian):**

_Mi dispiace… __Io sono il diavolo… - _I'm sorry... I am the devil..._  
_

_Il Principe Della Notte_… - Prince of the Night

_Re Della Notte_ - Kings of the Night


	11. Bound by Blood's Call

**Bound by Blood's Call**_**  
**_

* * *

The pavement seemed to shift beneath his feet as he stalked down the darkened street. While the earth had not moved, everything felt off kilter, as if gravity as he knew it had somehow been distorted. The force holding his body down was no longer vertical, but rather, it curved and bent back toward the brick building behind him. Startlingly, with each step away, the pull only seemed to intensify.

"Edward, you fool," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disgust and willing the baffling sensations away.

His reasoning for being here walking the streets, searching for lesser, substitute prey instead of finally giving in and taking the one who'd been born for him, was simply unfathomable. All of the excuses he mustered fell short, and he was left restless in the knowledge that he was no longer in complete control of his behavior. The entire situation with the girl – _Bella_ – was counter to every second of his last century of existence. It was an abomination, deplorable in the eyes of his kind, to deny himself _that_ drink, even temporarily. Yet here he was, somehow allowing meaningless distractions to slow his hand.

The sun had already disappeared. Overhead, its remnants – reflections of fading light – cast curling ribbons of smoky magenta against the black of the clouds and night sky. The unfurling patterns would have been beautiful had he looked. But nothing of nature or its beauty could capture his attention now. Instead, Edward's focus was wholly centered on more important matters.

While its nickname certainly held true – the city never truly slept – with night came a changing of the guard, a shift from light to dark, both in the skies and in those who drifted in the black, shadowy spaces between the walls of concrete. It was those individuals – the pale ghosts of humanity who slinked in alleyways and dark corners – he sought. For some reason, he found their deaths to be more _palatable_.

Wandering down from a fifth floor sublet, a tired waitress with cropped blonde hair and swollen ankles silently grated, _Christ Almighty, does that man ever do anything other than watch that goddamned TV? He has got to get a job. Back spasms, my ass. One month, that's all he's getting, or I swear, I'm leaving for good this time… _

From a block to the left, came rich, vibrant chords bursting through the pipes of an organ older than he. A middle-aged man, balding and unkempt, knelt in a back pew, head down and hands clasped in pious remorse, beseeching his God. _Blessed Father, forgive me, for I sinned against my brother. I coveted and I took what was not mine to take. I had no right… she was his wife. It's my fault he's dead… His heart… _With a strangled sob, he continued, chanting silently,_ Forgive the blackness of my soul. Punish me for my wickedness…_

Deeper still, buried in murky alleyways came the voices for which he searched. There were men there, vile in their thoughts and in their actions. Just before he stepped forward to track, however, another voice, higher in pitch and louder, arrested his attention. As soon as he saw her through nearby eyes, Edward knew he'd found his mark.

When he rounded the corner, he saw his prey. Pale, slim, and unassuming in carriage, she was even better than he could have hoped. Though lank and matted, her dark hair was reminiscent of another's and her face, while too thin, held the same heart shape. A poor approximation, but the notion of consuming one so physically similar was exhilarating. If only she were silent; her mental ramblings blared like a freight train over the buzz of the harlot-red glowing sign above her head. But judging by the filth and disease of her mind, however, no one would ever notice her missing.

"Hey, baby," she cooed, dropping her voice to a gravelling, sultry beckon. The moment she saw him, her thoughts immediately turned lewd, already imaging her thighs wrapped around his naked waist.

_My God… What the hell is he doing down here? That face… those clothes… that body… He's an Upper East Sider if I've ever seen one… I'd fuck him for free…_

She winked and licked cracked, red-painted lips in anticipation. "What's a man like you doing down here? You look lost. Looking for some directions? Or maybe a little _something_ else?"

The woman smelled off; her blood was flooded with street narcotics and sickness. When she lifted her arm to adjust the ragged strap of her bra, his eyes darted to splotchy skin littered with angry red needle bites.

"Perhaps," Edward answered, eyeing her up and down in feigned appraisal. He cared not for the roundness of her hips, just covered by a strip of cheap black cloth, nor did he care for the swells of flesh at her chest, barely hidden by the décolleté blouse she wore. No, he had no interest in the assets she so readily sold. His interest lay solely in the thumping pulse point beneath her jaw and the thick fluid coursing through her veins. His eyes darkened with what she mistook to be lust when he purred, "I suppose you could meet my needs."

"I can meet any 'need' you can think of. For a price, of course. But you look like the type who doesn't care too much about price..." The woman sidled up to him, the drugs in her system rendering her natural defenses and caution mute. When she leaned in and attempted to palm the front seam of his jeans, a wave of disgust rolled through him. Without thinking, Edward reacted and grabbed her wrist before it met denim.

"You are not to touch me," he warned, as he tried to suppress the desire to snap her in two for her affront. He forced a charming, mischievous smirk and lifted his brows suggestively.

"Kinky," she said with another wink and a shrug. "Whatever you want, baby. You're paying."

Backed against the wall of the nearby service alley, the woman's bravado faltered and fear finally surfaced as she watched his expression darken from the sexy, white smile she'd seen on the street to something akin to the delight of a dangerous, hungry beast. When his gaze never left her throat, she instinctively clutched it with a trembling hand, knowing that something unexpected and wrong was about to occur.

Edward inhaled, ignoring the stench of rotting garbage and urine. This close, he could taste her fragrance, a sweetness reminiscent of honeysuckle and rye. Bouncing off the brick walls around them, her heartbeat pounded, accelerating from a lethargic, drugged laze to a rapid, succulent demand. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relishing the slug of liquid through veins and arteries. Her heart was weak from years of mistreatment, but with adrenaline mixing with amphetamines, it throbbed with exertion, teasing and taunting him.

As he leaned in closer, allowing only scent and heat to guide him, another rhythm flared in his mind, a strident, marching pulse that he could never mistake. His eyes opened immediately and he whipped his head around, searching frantically. For just a split second, he contemplated whether _she_ had followed him somehow, despite his warning. But as soon as the thought floated, it sank. _She_ wasn't here; he'd have smelled her a mile away.

Yet _her_ heartbeat echoed between his ears as surely as if she were the one he was attacking. Everything was suddenly all wrong; the rhythm in his mind beat a stronger, louder, drowning counter-cadence to the thrum of the pitiable creature in front of him, and it was all he could do to focus on reality.

"Pl-please," the woman cried, seeing animalistic fury spread across his face. Her mind was awash with horror-movie images. She believed him a monster, though she'd yet to name him. "Please let me go. Please."

"Stop!" Edward growled angrily, both to the beat in his mind and to the woman backed against the bricks. His fist shot out, effortlessly knocking the feeble protection of her hand away from her throat. Her terror spiked as he bent his face down to hers, ghosting his nose along her jaw, sliding down to linger just above her pulse point.

He inhaled again, sucking in sweat and blood. But even with his nose against her skin, he could still smell the hints of Bella clinging to his shirt and to his own skin. Hours of bathing in her perfume left him completely inundated by her, so much so that she infiltrated his entire being, present or not.

"Please kill me quickly," the woman sobbed. Black stained tears streaked down her face, dotting the pale span of her chest and blouse. As his mouth opened, dripping venom down the column of her throat, she closed her eyes and retreated into memory. Surprising him, images of a grinning brown-haired girl – her younger self – brushing a tall black horse in a decrepit old barn flitted through her mind. The scene passed swiftly, only to be replaced by a barrage of others – all of the same girl, innocent and naïve.

_The warmth of an old woman's embrace… The tickle of wind on sunburned skin in the back of an old Chevrolet… A sweet kiss on the mouth from a lanky young boy with too long hair… A white dress and stained glass windows… Smiling down at a pink-faced baby girl in her arms…_

His anger cooled as he watched her life pass by, a replay of times before she'd fallen from grace. "You will not suffer. That, I promise," he soothed, his voice warm and fluid despite the chill of his breath. She shivered as his hands held her gently but firmly in place. Warm, shaky puffs of air skittered across his skin, and he could smell the hint of bile rising from her stomach.

A stab of something uncomfortable – almost painful – shot down through his chest and into his gut as he continued to listen to the circling torrent of thoughts and images. His own mind's mimicry of Bella's heartbeat had not waned either, so now he was flooded with too many sounds and too many sights. Edward grimaced, not fully understanding the source of his discomfort, as he'd never experienced its like. Physically, he knew that nothing could touch him, so this was something else, something foreign and new.

But he had to feed; his throat was nothing but burning embers after so many hours of self-induced torture. Whatever oddity that was befalling him, whatever it was that made him hear _her _and smell _her_ would have to wait to be understood.

Furious with himself for his hesitation, Edward sealed his eyes shut, pushing away all else, and lowered his teeth to the woman's clammy skin. The thin wall of flesh parted like strands of silken thread, and hot, piquant flavor splattered against the roof of his mouth. As soon as his lips clamped onto her, his cheeks instinctively caved in to suction his first drink. The woman moaned in a flash of pain, but before she even uttered a syllable, without pausing his feast, Edward reached up and grasped her skull on either side. With a flick of his wrist, her spine snapped in two, ending her misery, but doing nothing to assuage the rise of his own new and unexplainable torment.

He barely noticed the taste or smell, needing to extinguish the fire that had burned his throat as quickly as possible. Wasting no time, he finished, sucking in long, hard pulls. The predator in him reacted, not wanting her body to cool before her blood was consumed, but more so, he sped his feed because what he could only describe as the remnants of the man in him wanted to wash his hands of her and be through with this. With every mouthful he took, that pang in his chest grew and expanded until he could barely keep the blood down. Because with each swallow, against his will or understanding, behind his closed lids, a heart still pounded and the dead woman's face faded and was replaced by another face, another woman with dark hair and dark, accusing eyes.

**~.~.~**

Thirty minutes had passed since she'd heard the soft click of the door shutting. Bella hadn't contemplated this scenario – that he would have ever left her alone, unwatched. Theoretically, she could walk out of that door and race to the nearest taxicab. She could run as fast as her human legs could carry her, hide in a police station, or bury herself in the middle of Times Square amongst the lights and sounds. She didn't, however, because she was frozen by the words that were now etched into her consciousness.

Years ago, she had watched vampires track and she knew of their capabilities – their heightened sense of smell, their acute sense of hearing. On the hunt, they were deadly in the every way possible and they _always_ overtook their prey. They were faster, leaner, stronger, and smarter than anything she'd ever seen. Edward would find her; of that, she had no doubt whatsoever, whether it required a day or thirty. And Bella was under no misapprehension that were she to force his hand, to provoke him by giving chase, he would kill her without pause. The dark wine of his eyes had spoken that truth more convincingly than his words had ever hoped; he would not be able to stop himself.

While not running, Bella wasn't stupid, nor was she willing to sit idly by and wait. After the initial shock of unexpected solitude passed, the first thing on her mind was to locate her phone. With a desperation bordering on mania, she rushed across the room, targeting the dark-stained table that held her few belongings. Her fingers fumbled, clumsily pulling apart the clasp of her small handbag. As she shakily rummaged through the contents, she closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed that there would still be enough battery power left to place a call. The second she saw the screen, however, her prayers crumbled to rubble and dust. The normally vibrant screen was gray, lifeless, and unable to provide her that last link to her only hope – Alice.

She had no idea what to do. Whether Alice and the Cullens were on their way to save her or not, she didn't know. She didn't know if the future had been altered in any way since she'd last spoken to Alice. All she could hear were overwrought words and fears, fate condemning her.

_Alice? What do you mean you can't come here? What happens if you do? Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me…_

_You die..._

Weary and worn from not knowing, from being held in stasis, and from feeling the weight of the world upon her shoulders, Bella silently roamed the apartment, trying to distract herself from the litany of morbid thoughts that threatened to take over her mind. If she allowed it, she knew that she would buckle and fall apart.

As she padded through each room, taking in the exotic surroundings and smells, her fingers feathered across the flats of centuries-old tabletops, rich, heavy Italian brocade, and silken drapes and linens. The space was dim throughout, lit only by shaded lamps and the faint glow of the city's lights peeking around the edges of the covered windows.

The silence here was all-consuming, not eerie or frightening, but rather heavy or weighted. It was like a thick fog, making it difficult to breathe, as though there were too little oxygen. It made her shoulders sag and her limbs hang limp. She was so tired – mentally, physically, and emotionally spent. When she came to the last room at the end of the hall, an ironic chuckle escaped her lips, the only sound breaking the stillness.

"A bed?" she mused, rolling her eyes at the huge wrought-iron affair with too many pillows and too-plush covers. She sighed, wistfully recalling the props her Cullens had once used.

Prop or not, the soft pillows and rich gold tones called to her in her exhaustion, and without thinking, she slowly crawled across the mattress. For the first time since she'd been taken, Bella felt some measure of comfort. She sank into the cushions and the thick comforter hugged her sides. The same scents of citrus and spice clung to the pillows and filled her lungs. It was peaceful almost, and the fragrance, softness, and warmth lulled her into quiet contemplation.

As her eyes closed, Bella was surprised by what her mind conjured. It wasn't her mother or father, or even the Cullens. No, she saw Edward's face and she heard his voice. But he didn't frighten her because that strange resonating thrum she'd felt before returned and soothed all distress away. He was a perfect picture in her mind, his memory detailed in ways in which she hadn't realized she was capable. His skin was the purest cream, smooth and unmarred by age or human sickness, and like chiseled stone, his features were so perfectly angular – hard but so beautiful. When he spoke, she could see the curve of lips moving and shaping, their color just slightly too pink to be mere mortal. With each movement, the light caught the tint of his hair, messy and disheveled, as though his fingers had no other outlet for their stress. His shoulders were broad but his cut was lean, and beneath thin cotton fabric, she could see the dips and lines of his chest.

When she concentrated, flipping through all of their interactions, muddled confusion set in. There was something about the way he looked at her, the way that he held his body and gritted his teeth. It was something – something hidden beneath the ice and the hardness – that she saw when his eyes met hers. There was a hint of warmth buried in the crimson that he refused to allow to surface, an echo of her own inexplicable and illogical reactions. But it was there, some heat bubbling. It was as if he were struggling in some primal war of wills. Though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, there was more than simple thirst there. It was possessiveness, it was thirst, it was hunger, it was admiration, it was some measure of respect, it was longing, and everything was all intertwined such that the emotions were impossible to individually distinguish. But in his eyes, she was his, in more ways than she fully understood.

She drifted closer to sleep, spiraling downward into the abyss of dreams, and scenes began to take shape and solidify. And once more, Bella found herself falling. Instead of tumbling down a mountainside, however, this time it was an unrestrained freefall, a solo leap from a canyon ledge. Streaking through the cool open air, the wind lashed at her face, and tears leaked out from her corners of her eyes, streaming across her temples and matting into her hair. Looking down, she could see the forest creeping upward, its trees and rocks becoming clearer with each passing second, like arms reaching out to grab her, pulling her to her death.

The speed of her descent caught up with her stomach and a thick, expanding ball lodged in her throat. She panted in disjointed huffs, trying desperately to get air into her lungs. But the ground was so close and terror overtook her. Refusing to meet her death, she closed her eyes and saw only creamy white and autumn leaves. And when her mouth opened, Bella screamed the only words that came to mind.

"Edward, please! _Save_ me…"

When she opened her eyes again, Bella saw darkness. She blinked and sat up, shaking her head to clear it. Her heart felt like it was climbing out of her chest and the dread from her fall lingered in her muscles. Gasping for air, she frantically glanced around the room. When her focus settled on a shape in the corner, her breath caught and her heart sputtered.

"You were dreaming, Isabella," Edward murmured, distracted.

"You… you're back," she whispered. In the low light, Bella could only see the outline of his body, sitting stock still in the antique side chair. His expression was lost in the shadows.

Edward chuckled, outwardly amused, but internally, still trying to reconcile her fearful stutter with the earnest pleas he'd heard her cry in her sleep. The urgency and conviction in those unprotected thoughts was unsettling.

"And you didn't run. I don't know whether to be impressed by your bravery or stunned by your foolishness. I thought for certain that I'd have to track you down."

Bella hugged a pillow between her chest and knees. As the seconds passed, her eyes grew more accustomed to her surroundings. She could just make out the faint white glow of his face, an ethereal ghost surrounded by blackness. As evenly as she could muster, she answered, "We both know that wouldn't have gone well for me."

"True," Edward acquiesced, nodding. He sipped the air, purposefully pushing his tolerance. Despite having fed less than an hour before, his throat still burned for her in ways he'd never imagined. But it was at least manageable and he could maintain cognizance and control.

"You fed?" she asked, her hesitant voice filled with indecipherable sadness. He watched her fingers dig into the plush down of the pillow, her distress clear, bright, and aching.

Slowly, more carefully, he affirmed, "Yes. I told you that I would."

"Tell me." Her words were nervous, uncertain and trembling. The thump of her heartbeat, now seamlessly merged with the one in his head, quickened as her breathing turned shallow.

"About what?" he queried, cocking his head in bafflement. _Surely,_ he thought. _Surely she would not want to know about that. _

So soft that even he barely heard, she pressed, "Who?"

Edward's brow folded as he processed her request. Incredulous, he countered, "Why? Why would you want to know that?"

"Because I want to know who died in my place."

Her statement hung in the air, echoing and ringing in silence like the deep gong of a sounding bell.

Edward closed his eyes and inhaled, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He smelled salt and the stab of tears.

"I don't think you do," he whispered, partly to himself. The woman from the alley filled in his mind – the dark hair and eyes, her face, the slight build. The pangs he'd discounted as aberration jolted back to life, and coupled with the sorrow he heard in Bella's voice, now he had a name for them. For the first time in his century of existence, he understood what it meant to feel guilty.

"Yes, I do," Bella breathed.

"She looked vaguely like you," he answered, more roughly than he intended, vexed that he'd allowed his emotions to be manipulated by a human – the same human who was supposed to be dead by now. "I killed her because she reminded me of you."

"Why- how… why would you do such a thing?" Bella stammered as guilt wracked her body. Edward watched her small frame tremble and he heard soft sobs escaping her chest.

"It's what we do, Isabella," he offered, this time more gently.

Bella's shoulders bent inward from the weight of uncontrollable sorrow. The _guilt_ he felt blossomed into something truly painful as he watched the woman in front of him double over and cry for someone she'd never met. He didn't understand her, how she could feel so strongly for a stranger's life, but there was no denying the anguish written across her features and in the tremors rocking her body.

Her head shot up and she glared at the subtle white glow she knew to be his face. "No, no you don't!" she yelled, her voice raw and ragged. "You do _not_ have to. You _chose _to.

"Just kill me now and be done with it! Why? Why don't you just do it? What are you waiting for?"

Her heartbeat was soaring. "No one else. Please. No one else can take my place. Next time – now, tomorrow, whenever – me. Do you hear me, Edward? _Me_. I'm the one you want anyway."

Before she could blink, the white glow was suddenly less than an inch from her face and she felt cool air ghosting across her lips. Unthinkingly, she reached out and grasped the fabric of his shirt, clawing against the granite plane of his chest, pulling him closer still.

"You have no idea, do you, Isabella?" he breathed. Heat lapped across his flesh, radiating and warming his skin. Every fiber in his being begged to be closer, and he fought the need to press his lips against her throat, unsure whether he wanted to bite or to do something else altogether. Blood sloshed through her veins, racing through her heart and lungs. He could hear it – see it beneath her flesh. But her hands on him stole every sense of reason he possessed and the feel of her fingertips pressing against his chest consumed him.

"Explain it, then," she demanded, as tears silently fell. "Why don't you just kill me? _This_-" she gestured between them, finally putting the pieces together,_ "_is _more,_ isn't it?"

"_More?_" he rasped, disbelieving.

"I'm more to you than just some random human to kill. Why else would you wait? If you are so cold and callous, and if I'm just food or just a job, why are you stalling?"

Her questions pierced his chest and pulled the answer from his mouth against his will. "Yes," he answered, punctuating each syllable. "You are… _more_."

"Then what am I?" she asked, her heart smacking against her ribcage. The vision from the night before, the one that had eluded her – the one from her first dream, in which Edward was death incarnate – flickered and she remembered. Where she touched him, came crackling electricity, a buzzing heat that enveloped them both.

"I can't explain it you. You won't understand. But you – your blood, you were designed… for me. You're _mine_. You are the only thing that's ever belonged to me and me alone. You can't comprehend that."

She stared into his eyes, liquid black in the darkness of the room. "Is that why you haven't killed me?"

Edward hesitated and his jaw clenched. "Yes."

Bella's tears stopped and she jerked on his shirt once more. She heard her own voice challenging the Death of her dreams, _You're mine…_

"You can't do it, can you?"

A growl ripped through his chest as he tore away from her grip, furious. "Yes, I _can_. And I _will_."

Edward raked his hand through his hair and settled back into the chair across the room, thoroughly shaken. Angrily, he snapped, "Sleep, _Isabella_. Go back to sleep."

At first she didn't answer, and he thought that she'd finally obeyed. But before that thought was even complete, her eyes sought his and she spat, "I thought so."

.

.


	12. Chased by the Night

**Chased by the Night**

* * *

In a shadowed corner of the concourse, far away from the bright, sunlit windows, two pale men with indistinguishable European accents feigned patient waiting and stared at the passersby. All around them, humans scurried like field mice, darting to and fro, chasing their planes. Lost in thought and in the stress of travel, their minds seemed unable to detect the threat, unwilling to acknowledge that danger lurked and watched, even under the protective fluorescent lights of New York's largest airport.

The long weather delay at Charles de Gaulle had set them back hours, and being inundated by so many succulent prey on the long trans-Atlantic flight had taken its toll on both of them. They both needed to feed, but to avoid unwanted notice, they needed to wait until nightfall to depart.

A twenty-something man with unruly blond hair and faded jeans strode toward their nook. Occupied by the small black device in his hand and the thudding beats streaming through his earphones, he paid little attention to his surroundings. At the last minute, directly in front of the two pale watchers, the man swerved to avoid an oncoming stroller, coming within but an arm's length. A rolling wave of human heat and delicious scent crashed over them, and Felix's scarlet eyes immediately darkened to blackened aubergine, as the never-waning itch in the back of his throat flared to life. Reflexively, his massive frame stiffened in the plastic chair and his muscles coiled in preparation for attack.

Hearing what he swore was a low rumble, the man glanced to his left and started when he processed the murderous expression that followed his movements. Tired, hazel eyes widened in sudden alarm and the surprised stutter of his heart sounded like the ring of hooves. Unthinking, the man jerked, backing away and bumping into another in his haste before darting away.

"Felix," Demetri warned, subtly placing a restraining hand on Felix's broad shoulder. "Not here."

Felix glared at his dark haired travel companion. "I'm fine," he clipped, effortlessly shrugging off Demetri's iron grip. His tone was harsh, the consonants gravelly and roughened by unmasked High German inflection. "You'd be wise to mind yourself rather than worry for me."

Already weary, Demetri sighed. While he and Felix served the same masters, little else marked them as brothers. Where he was soft-spoken, patient, and logical, Felix was rash and easily angered. Coupled with his size and strength – virtually unparalleled even amongst their kind – he was a volatile and dangerous foe. It was for this reason that Caius spared him that night in the mountains. He was Caius's prized fighter, ready and eager to be unleashed. More than all the others, but for the exception of the witch-twin, Jane, Felix delighted in his vampire nature, relished the kill, and made no apologies for his brutality. Edward had once likened him to a rabid fight dog.

Minutes ticked by, counted by fading inches of sunlight creeping across the tile. Like clockwork, every two minutes, an overhead blaring intercom, static-filled and noisy, announced flights in half a dozen languages. Yet they still waited as the human hordes came and went in a continuous, unrelenting stream of sweat-laden flesh and pattering hearts. In some ways, it was even worse than it had been on the plane, for here there were thousands and their fragile, mortal sounds bounced and clanged off of the hard, modern floors and walls.

"Is he in the city?" Felix asked, never moving his eyes from the river of people.

When Demetri had summoned him back to Volterra without reason or spoken cause, he had been livid. Locating and destroying those who could not keep with the law was far more than mere duty. For Felix, it was entertainment in the tedium of eternity – it was _fun_ – and he had resented being forced to halt his pursuit. Of course, his opinion changed when in the secret, quiet spaces of the catacombs, Demetri had presented him his new task, one for which he'd longed for decades. Hunting down Aro's pet would be the ultimate challenge – Edward's speed against his brawn.

Edward was weak by Felix's estimation, unworthy of his high status and esteem. Always aloof, as if deemed himself above the rest, he roamed the halls and the city alone, interacting only when called upon. Too many, including Demetri, provided him excuses, citing his gift as reason for his detachment. Felix called them naïve. Edward was resentful of his very nature and he fed too infrequently, foolishly allowing his body to waste away. And when he did participate in the traditional feasting, it was perfunctory and quick. Felix found him to be offensive and insolent, a pathetic, unwanted addition to their coven. They had clashed from the very moment he had arrived, a wild, newborn toy from overseas, and their mutual disdain had only grown stronger with time.

Demetri's head cocked and he closed his eyes, an involuntary, unnecessary action carried over from his brief human life, static now, despite the millennia. The fine lines and granularity of Edward's mind glowed bright, pulsing almost with his proximity. When he reached out, searching, he felt the faint tug, signaling direction. "North and to the west. No more than 20 kilometers."

Felix hissed, and there was a sharp crack of snapping plastic inside of his curled fist. "So close?"

Demetri shook his head at Felix's eagerness. "He's not to know we're here. You know that, Felix. We're here to observe and to report back to Caius."

"I know that," Felix snapped, pulverizing the broken piece of furniture to dust. "But you know as well as I do what Caius meant for us to do."

Demetri could still feel the chill from Caius's white ire, an icy current that instilled numbing fear even in the bravest of his kind. His word meant death, annihilation, and there was rarely recourse. While it had not been said explicitly, Demetri indeed knew that Caius had already decided Edward's fate, regardless of situation. Edward had taken too long, and without refutation, Caius deigned him a failure at best, unbefitting of his robes, a traitor at worst. The ring of condemnation resounded in perfect memory.

_If the situation warrants, you know what must be done…_

"Only if he resists," Demetri cautioned, eying the charcoal skies through the windows. While he accepted his obligation without quarrel – _no one_ was above the law – he _hoped_ that this had all been a matter of simple miscommunication. He did not relish the idea of destroying one of his brethren, especially one of the three; the action was almost unthinkable and would likely spark a war between Aro and Caius. Centuries of watchfulness had taught Demetri that those caught in the sticky webs of the Masters inexorably found themselves broken and burned to ash.

"Or if he's broken the law," Felix countered, anticipation building. In his mind, he was already gearing up, preparing himself for a fight decades in the making.

"You don't know that, Felix," Demetri growled. "We watch to see if he's killed the girl. And only from a distance. You know that Edward will hear us if we venture too close."

Felix's lips stretched into a wicked sneer. "So you say, brother. Maybe he _should_ hear."

Still smiling, Felix rose and motioned to his fellow guardsman. "It's time, Demetri. My patience is now past. The skies are dark and I'm thirsty."

Demetri nodded, grimacing, but still rising.

"The girl?" Felix queried.

"What of her?"

Fluorescent light glinted off razor sharp teeth, already coated with slick venom. "If she lives still, she's mine."

**~.~.~**

Bella looked up from her position on the sofa, her eyes darting once more to the Rococo clock hanging on the wall. In a blurred pattern of time, which seemingly had no definitive end, minutes bled into hours, which in turn, bled into days.

Two more days had passed but physically, little had changed. She was still housed in her gilded prison, still uncertain of her fate at the hand of her vampire captor. But driven primarily by Bella's human clock and human needs, a routine of sorts had slowly formed. For hours each day, sitting on opposite sides of the wide living room, they conversed a range of topics in Edward's vein attempt to ferret out the secret to her silence. And each evening, in unspoken understanding, conversation halted and Bella slept in the once-unused bed at the end of the hall. He permitted her to eat when she chose and understood her body's need to periodically walk around the room to stretch her stiff muscles.

Sometimes, with increasing frequency, when Edward stared at her, it was all too easy to forget why she was here or that he held her life in the cup of his hand. He could crush her before she could blink and steal her life away with one slice of his teeth. But other than periodic flashes of scarlet eyes to hungry black and the low, accompanying growls, he'd made no move to harm her, despite his warnings. Bella wondered if her declaration had been more right than she'd guessed. She wondered if he _could_ kill her now.

Since that night when Edward had returned from his feed – from murdering her lookalike – their dynamic had shifted; there was no blatant change, more, just a subtle swing in content of his questions and in the tone in which they were delivered. His inquiries were now far more personal in nature, delving into beliefs and into the fundamental core of what made her tick. He wanted to _know_ her, not to simply understand. Quietly listening, Edward eyed her curiously, making little effort to disguise the intrigue coloring and slightly softening his rigid features.

When his cool, stony façade accidentally dropped, usually after she'd answered one of his questions too honestly, Bella saw the countenance of a shy, lonely man, an unchanged relic of a bygone era, now trapped in circumstance and unaware of any alternative. She didn't like what she saw; it made her uncomfortable, and something akin to possessiveness, or perhaps, irrational protectiveness, reared its head. Strangely, those soft, unexpected smiles and flickers of downcast eyes tugged at her chest, and her body almost vibrated with the need to close the space between them. She'd read about Stockholm syndrome, but _this_ – this bone-deep, zinging connection she felt, unaware of its rightful name – was something altogether different. In ways she couldn't grasp, Bella felt bound to this vampire, her would-be destroyer.

"Tell me about your father," Edward asked quietly. "Why are you not close?"

Bella's eyes widened in surprise and he wanted to laugh. Her mental silence was as baffling as ever, and truth be told, he'd all but given up on divining its cause. After days of constant exposure and unceasing study, he'd heard nothing from her. While certain his puzzle would forever go unsolved, she still lived, and questions continued to fall out of his mouth, an unwitting accomplice to his treachery.

In the back of his mind, Edward knew that once his Masters discovered his delay and his weakness, in all likelihood, the punishment would severe, if not deadly. In his decades in Volterra, he'd borne witness to the destruction of countless others, many for far lesser crimes than his. Some had merely been careless. He had purposefully and willfully disobeyed, and there would be no hiding his trespasses from Aro. Yet despite his dour future, when she looked at him as she was right now, her expression wide and innocent, Edward found himself dangerously disinclined to fulfill his contract.

What exactly he_ did_ want, he wasn't sure, and Edward was not accustomed to indecision.

For certain, he still wanted to drink every last drop of her prized blood. Hers was a matchless elixir that called to him with unfathomable strength, and even after days of exposure, it stole his sanity, scorching him with the thirst of Hades incarnate, when he slipped in his guard. And the violence – the too-graphic images of outright slaughter – her blood elicited was startling. The beast, the animal boiling just before the surface of his human mask, did not just want to take her blood as he'd done with countless others; no, he wanted to _bathe_ in it like a savage.

Yet, inexplicably, when he listened to the breathy murmurs of her sleep in the darkness of the night, unbeknownst to her, something else – something new – warred in his mind. It was an ancient, indescribable ache that spread through his chest and coursed through limbs. It was a wound that seemed to only be healed by proximity to her. When she had touched him, grappling with his shirt, her face but an inch from his and challenging him to bite, that ache had all but vanished. The only experience he had with which to compare was the utter, inconsolable desolation that he heard in his Master's – Marcus – never ceasing thoughts of his lost Didyme. The parallel was unsettling, but it warned of pain were he to destroy her.

Therein lay his indecision – the unspeakable ecstasy of the drink or the potential for unyielding pain, the cause of which he could not grasp. Of course, beyond that was the fact that his sole purpose here was to kill her for the sake of his kind, and if he failed, his life was forfeit – if it wasn't already.

"I wouldn't say we don't get along," Bella answered, cocking her head in contemplation. "I just haven't spent too much time with him. My mother took me when she left. I was just an infant, so for the most part, I grew up without a consistent father figure. I saw him on occasion, but our time was always spent with him trying to buy off his guilt. And to be honest, I didn't give Charlie too much of a chance when I moved to Forks. We were more companions than anything. He didn't know how to be a parent and I didn't need one. I love him, but we're just not close. To be honest, Carlisle was more a father to me than Charlie."

When she spoke Carlisle's name, Bella's voice faltered, marred by bittersweet sentiment. The abrupt downward twist of her lips and the sharp furrow of her brow were not missed by Edward. In some deeply buried instinct, his fingers burned with the incomprehensible urge to smooth away the offending pucker, to rid her of her sorrow. It seemed… _wrong_.

For a moment, neither commented, both simply staring across the space and trying to make sense of the other and of the madness of their situation.

"I don't understand why they didn't turn you," Edward finally said. "If they loved you as they did and you felt for them something similar, I don't understand why they left you. It was thoughtless and their mistake will cost all your lives."

Bella's eyes gleamed in the lamplight. He had said nothing new. But hearing the words spoken out loud, wrapped in Edward's lilting, velvety timbre, was far more painful than the countless times she'd heard them in her own mind. She swallowed as the emptiness of abandonment, once again raw, like a re-torn gash, threatened to drown her. Only now, it was overlaid and made worse by the dagger stab of knowing their lives were at risk. "I don't know," she whispered, her words thick with emotion.

Edward sat upright, alarmed and not understanding her reaction. Pangs of the disturbing new emotion he'd labeled as guilt shot through his middle and he wildly searched for her thoughts. He could hear the stutter in her chest, and the smell of salt tinged the air. More gently, he asked, "Why are you distressed? I did not intend to cause you suffering with my question."

"Because when you love someone, their actions hurt more." Edward's muscles locked, hearing the sting of sadness. She _loved_ them – vampires. She _still_ loved them. Her emotional capacity was astounding, and he was struck by the simplicity yet perceptiveness of her answer. Bella clenched her fist and shook her head. "I wanted to be a member of their family. More than anything."

"They refused you? You asked specifically?" Edward asked, narrowing his eyes. This was the second time the word 'family' had been ascribed to the Cullens in his presence. With perfect clarity, he recalled the mental streams of their thoughts and the peculiar warmth they exhibited toward each other and toward this fragile girl. It was unlike anything within the Keep at Volterra.

Bella shrugged, tired and defeated. "I wasn't dying. Carlisle won't take a life that's not already ending."

Curiously, Bella watched the progression of Edward's pale features. What she thought to be anger, though seemingly not directed at her, slid across his face as he contemptuously scoffed, "That's a fine distinction, Isabella. He's plays God."

Under her breath, she muttered sarcastically, "Yeah, I'm seeing that to be pretty common among vampires."

Biting back another retort, Bella raked her fingers through her hair and for the first time, she noticed the tackiness and grit. Dry washing her face, her skin felt slick and oily, and thinking back, she didn't want to know what she smelled like. It'd now been days since she had showered, and at the moment, it was all she wanted – to wash some of the sweat and tears away. It was something that could make her feel human again.

Staring down at her lap, Bella asked, hesitant, "Is- would it be possible for me to maybe wash up?"

Edward's brows lifted in confusion, following neither the turn in conversation, nor her soft intonation.

"Look, I'm tired and I feel disgusting. Just a few minutes. Please? And then we can start back, I suppose."

Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were pleading. His first inclination was to deny her request and to counter her assumption. 'Disgusting' was not a word to describe her scent. '_Delicious,' 'delectable,' or 'luscious' would be far more accurate_, he thought acerbically. But instead of arguing, Edward nodded, not knowing an appropriate response or gesture, and then followed her with his eyes as she rose and quietly slipped down the hall.

Under the scalding, pulsing heat of raining water, Bella closed her eyes and sighed as she slid down the marble-tiled wall. For a long moment, she sat there on the hard shower floor, feeling warmth penetrate her stiff muscles and fill her expanding lungs. She breathed deeply, thinking, trying to make sense of the hundred conflicting emotions battling for priority. Fear was gone, or at least it had been shoved down to the bottom. Now, almost overwhelmingly, she felt the strange, new throb that she could only associate with Edward. In violent disagreement, however, was repulsion at herself – that she could forget the horrors of his nature, that she could feel something so strongly for someone bent on killing her.

When she was still like this, she could recall remnants of her nightly dreams. She could see the bold, colorful landscapes shadowed by dark clouds overhead. She could feel the nipping wind and she could smell honey and something so sweet, it couldn't be named. And when she concentrated, she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear, and she could feel silk gliding across her face and wrapping itself around her.

At least an hour passed, but Edward made no move to disrupt her reprieve. Standing at mouth of the hallway, he stared at the yellow beam of light peeking from underneath the door and he listened to the falling droplets on tile, changing pattern and rhythm with her motions. Hints of manufactured perfume wafted into the room, steamy and saturated, and he found himself irritated that her scent had been diluted, despite the fire it ignited. It was like replacing the finest wine with water.

When he heard the turn of the valve and the water stop, he silently approached the door, setting a small bundle on the floor, and knocked.

Bella started, not expecting the noise. "Wha-yes?" Her heart leapt in her chest and she fought a swell of anxiety.

Edward sounded… _nervous?_ She couldn't place the intonation. Barely audible, she heard him say, "I laid a change of clothes by the door. You may use them if you'd like. It's not… _everything_ you would need, but I assume that you might prefer a clean shirt."

By the time she answered a quiet, 'thank you', he was already back in the living room, trying to justify his absurd behavior.

A small smile danced across Bella's lips as she processed Edward's words and recalled his birth year. A shot of relief relaxed her posture, thankful for both the clothes and his gesture. Much like his unpredicted, polite acceptance of her sleep and diet, Bella realized that she was seeing another glimpse of hidden depth beyond his cool, detached exterior. Hastily, she cinched the waist of the too-big athletic pants and pulled on the too-large shirt, pausing momentarily before pushing her head through the collar. Surrounded by black cotton, she inhaled, smelling honey and unnamed sweetness. It smelled like her dream, and at once, the puzzle pieces aligned and she recognized the scent as his.

When Bella emerged from the hall, Edward was standing in the center of the room, palming the back of his neck, still contemplating his imprudent actions. He looked up, meeting her eyes. Hers seemed to be alive almost, fathomless and churning with unspoken thoughts. Stone still, he watched her slowly approach, her jaw set and resolved. This was a new expression, one that he'd only seen in pale approximation the night he'd returned from feeding. It was some intoxicating blend of beauty and power to which his body involuntarily responded. Vainly, for the thousandth time, he searched for her thoughts, and when he failed to hear her yet again, a ball of anxiety welled in his stomach, climbing its way to his throat.

Bella stopped no more than a foot away. Her hair was damp, framing her face in near-black waves. _But the scent_ – the scent rolling off of her overheated, pink skin was maddening, debilitating almost. The blood was so close to the surface, hot and pulsing, tempting every cell in his body. Venom swamped his mouth, burning like acid as he swallowed.

Startling him, she reached out and placed her palm flat against the center of his chest. Heat radiated from her skin, through the thin, dark fabric of his shirt, directly to him, sinking into his stone flesh. Immediately, he felt his body temperature begin to rise, her fire warming his ice.

"What are you doing?" he growled through gritted teeth. When he inhaled, sipping with his hands fisted by his side, razor blades sliced his throat.

Her expression did not change; it was as if she couldn't hear the danger, as if she didn't realize how close to snapping he was. Her eyes dropped and then rose again, confident and capturing his. She took a deep, shaky breath, lifting herself on her toes, and leaned in.

A dozen alarms went off in his head, while simultaneously, his vision flooded with violence. Her heart slammed in rapid-fire percussion, and again, the conjured hammer in his mind reappeared, matching hers beat for beat. In symphonic background, he could hear the hitch in her shallow breathing and his ears sang with the wet sloshing and slugging of her too-precious blood pushing through her veins.

Every instinct told him to grab, to bite, to drink, to take what was rightfully his. She was his _singer_, born to die beneath his mouth, and she was inches away, coming _to_ him.

A sliver of rationality spiked and coupled with burgeoning ache, it forced him to halt his breathing. He tore gaze away from Bella's, frantically, trying to break her spell. He closed his eyes and Marcus's face flitted through his memory. The picture of regret and grief spanning millennia, his shoulders were hunched and his oxblood eyes were flat and despairing, as he replayed the minutes of his existence before Didyme had been taken.

Hot, soft lips pressed against Edward's, pliable, fragrant flesh molding around his stone. Lightning struck, electrocuting him, and he roughly jerked away, reeling from the dizzying, delirious spin of bloodlust blended with borrowed, unspeakable agony.

"No!" Edward roared, flying back, whipping across the room in a blinding blur, placing as much space between them as possible.

Bella's eyes shot wide and her hand covered her mouth as she realized just what she'd done. She had no reason, no logical cause for her actions, and she could only blame exhaustion. It was as if she'd been possessed, as if her mind had completely shut down, giving in to the unconscious, magnetic pull. Inundated by scent and driven by the sight of him there, tall, lean and dressed like the Death of her memories, her dream self had taken over, banishing reality. She had touched him. She had kissed him. And her lips still stung from his absence.

"I-, I-," she stuttered, her breath catching in her throat.

Edward's back was against the wall, his palms stretched wide, his fingers digging into drywall. His expression was one of utter fear masked with raging fury. "Go," he rasped, not trusting himself to move. His throat bobbed, forcing down another mouthful of acid, and she heard another crack when his shoulders flexed. The tendons in his arms were taut, stretched and tense.

"I'm," she started again.

"Go, Isabella! Leave!" he growled. His eyes were the blackest of night. "If you don't, I swear I will kill you right now."

Bella stared, mute and frozen, her brain struggling to process the words through sheer terror. In all the time she'd been in his presence, she'd never experienced this kind of raw panic.

"Goddamn you, run!" Edward snarled, his face twisted and straining. Gypsum crumbled, and wide, jagged cracks splintered along the wall.

Bella's feet responded before her brain and as fast as they could carry her, she flew down the hall and out of the door. Instinctively, she targeted the stairs, bounding down two and three at a time. When she reached street level, she burst through the door.

It was night and the city was lit by streetlamps and neon signs. She vaguely remembered once thinking that they were somewhere in Chelsea, but she had no idea where to go. Randomly picking a direction, she raced down the sidewalk, barreling past the late night occupants, pushing between them if they wouldn't part.

She ran until her legs and lungs burned, slowing only to weave through the masses of headlights and taxis when she crossed the streets. Some part of her understood that were he to decide, Edward could follow her. He could overtake her at any moment if he so chose. Her scent was forever embedded in his mind. That much, she knew. But she ran anyway, mostly from herself and from the illogical and insane reactions that she seemingly no longer controlled.

In her haste and fear, she paid little mind to signs, simply wanting to escape, but gradually, as the endorphin rush waned and her body weakened, she slowed to a jog and then to a walk, searching for landmarks she knew. Alarmingly, Bella realized that the streets were narrowing and darkening. She met fewer people, and those she did were not ones she'd hoped to see. She was in a dangerous area of the city and she wasn't certain which way to go. Signs were painted over and all around her, she saw rundown brick structures with blackened, broken windows.

She paused near the mouth of an alleyway, under a dim circle of light from the overhead streetlamp. Frantically, she looked around, panting and close to collapse.

From the shadows of the alley behind her, she heard a low, menacing chuckle. She spun around and saw the outline of a tall man with broad shoulders walking toward her, his features indistinguishable in the dark. Behind him, she thought she saw another shape lingering in the darkness, but she couldn't be certain.

In a deep bass voice that chilled her to the bone, one decorated by an accent Bella couldn't quite place, clear menace rang out.

"My, my. Look who we have here…"

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **Minor details perhaps, but in this story:

- Demetri, once _Demetrios_, was a tracker and soldier in the Grecian army. He was changed on the night before the Battle of Corinth (146 BC) by Aro. Per chapter 2, his gift is described as: "Minds, human and vampire, were like fingerprints to his, entirely individual and distinguishable in from each other. Demetri could see them, could see the fine grain boundaries and curvature that marked individuals thoughts. While he could not _hear_ as Edward did, once he'd seen the _print_, he could locate his target again no matter the distance or time away."

- Felix was acquired mostly for his size, strength, and _enthusiasm_. He was changed by Caius when the Volturi razed his village in the Eastern Alps, which stretch between present day Germany and Austria. He was born some time in the middle of the first millennium AD, and as such, he would have originally spoken a dialect of Old High German. As an aside, a lot of people assume 'Felix' to be a Russian or other Slavic name. It's an old name for certain, even dating back to the Roman general Sulla (Felix was his nickname), but it's _predominately_ of continental European descent (German, Dutch, Roman, etc). At least according to what I've read. :)


	13. A Tear in the Fabric

**A Tear in the Fabric**

* * *

"No! What have you _done?_" Edward rasped to the empty room, shaking his head to clear it. His knuckles flexed and his fingers dug into gypsum in a useless but symbolic effort to ground himself. Venom still spilled, but slowly, ever so slowly, with each shallow pant and roll of his spine, lucidity returned.

Curling tendrils of fire licked and tickled his throat, remnants of the blaze that had nearly consumed him. When her mouth had intentionally touched his – for whatever lunatic reason drove her to do so – it had been as though he were burning on his funeral pyre, engulfed in flames and unbridled thirst. Her _taste_ – _not even her blood_ – was beyond comparison; his imaginings were too weak, too pale in their estimation. The vampire inside of him clawed for release, roaring and ripping to claim her.

Yet that same moment, in what was at once an age and a second, it had been as though lightning pummeled him, scorching him with an all-too-different fire. New feelings, new sensations – ones he was only beginning to grasp – rocked him through and through, burying him in an ancient, mysterious yearning.

What had compelled her to approach him and to test him – to_ touch_ – was beyond his understanding. She courted her death, welcomed it and teased it. Foolishly, she held no fear of him.

"Confounding woman!" he snarled, angered that she had pushed him, that she had forced him to respond and that he had been incapable of containing himself. Amongst his kind, his control was virtually unparalleled but she tested him on every level.

He knew Bella to be his _singer_, but _this – _what he felt now – was more than that, something deeper, more primal. Her blood sang, calling him, coaxing him, and beckoning him closer still with its siren song. But she sang not just for the vampire, but for _him, _on every plane and in every dimension. It was impossible to deny; everything about her called to him. Again, his mind spun back to Marcus, strangely his only point of reference. Nothing else, no other borrowed thoughts in his century of hearing could adequately express the inexplicable zinging current racing beneath his stone flesh. It was an unconscious recognition of sorts, the sense of his mind and body connecting to another's.

Everything he thought he knew was suddenly scattered and muddled, snarled in a tangle of raging bloodlust and _more_, as she had called it. Up became down and night became day. And it was impossible to resolve the warring emotions, both instinctual, both seemingly set into the very fabric of his being. Balanced on the knife-edge, Edward was torn. There was the undeniable animalistic need that violently craved her blood, its strength bolstered by duty and obligation to his masters. And then there was this – this new, foreign, yet almost overwhelming, longing and the knowledge that were he to give in to the former, undisclosed anguish was inevitable. He was sent to destroy her, yet his hand had not risen. He wanted her blood and he wanted _more_. The two were irreconcilable.

In confusion and indecision, he'd merely reacted, exploding and sending her away, allowing her escape before he lost all semblance of control. He couldn't make his decision with her there, damp and so lusciously fragrant, not with venom dripping and with coiled muscles. He needed her gone, lest the vampire take over before he could make sense of the long lost man.

But now Bella _was_ gone, and with the return of clarity, like a sounding gong, came the realization of exactly what he'd done. He was at once furious with himself for his weakness, knowing that with each breath she took, he was signing his death warrant, and yet, he was somehow _relieved_ that he'd escaped that other impending pain.

The fury was simple, easy to comprehend; it was the result of failure and his traitorous behavior. His disobedience was damnable no matter what excuse he gave. Even if he were to kill her right now, there was little chance that he'd emerge unscathed. There would be penalty and it would be excruciating. But that, Edward reasoned, he could tolerate, or at least he could accept. Defiance had been a choice that he'd knowingly made.

It was the result of the denial of his basest of instincts – to feed – that was galling. He'd berated the Cullens for their weak diet and weak sensibilities, but here he was rejecting his very blood right. His crime was far worse than theirs. He was Volturi and she was his singer. The choice should have been immediate and without question, regardless of her mind's silence or any other defense.

Where the fury was easily explained, the relief he felt was far more complex; it was more difficult to discern and dissect because there was that _ache_ coupled with the lungful of fresh air. Deep down, secret and hidden in his subconscious, he sighed, grateful that he had resisted. And that perplexing ache alerted him to something else, too. The longer Bella was gone from his presence, the stronger it grew. That same sensation he'd felt when he'd left to feed had returned. It was as though gravity itself had tilted, upending and drawing him east, attuning his body like a compass to her retreating direction, and his feet had the urge to follow, but _not_ to hunt. He didn't _like_ her absence.

Edward glanced out through the window and into the dark. Once again, night had fallen, blanketing the world around him, obscuring both his reason and his folly. Shades of torment twisted through his thoughts and a certain, peculiar anxiety welled. Sitting atop a table were Bella's belongings, their contents he already knew. In her haste, she'd run out alone, with nothing. She would be on foot.

Gun shots rang out from two blocks away, and in the distance, bouncing and angling through the tinted glass, he saw the whir of spinning blue lights. Involuntarily, Edward's eyes slid shut and he listened, opening the doors to the hall of roaring voices.

_Fuck, man, I told you to bring it all. You dumb shit. Twelve hours is all you got. And you better have it all or Jimmy here will take matters into his own hands. You don't want that. You saw what happened to Carlos. _Alcohol and the blur of drugs marred the voices. The tenor of the speaker's thoughts was malevolent, and barely hidden behind the words, Edward heard undeniable intent and lies. The other man would not survive even if he were to raise all the funds he lacked. Without intervention, he would be made an example and would be dead by dawn.

A block to the left, _Look at you, begging for it. That's it. Take it all, you whore. If you gag, you're only getting half the money. _Through bleary, bloodshot eyes, Edward watched a dark haired woman, all skin and bones, flinch and cower against a concrete wall when a hand flew, smacking and leaving a bright red print across her cheek. The man liked that; he relished the colored evidence of his force upon her flesh. He hit her again and savagely pushed himself between her legs.

Swirling all around were vile, loathsome beings, the very dregs of society. Bella would be easy prey. Pale, slight, and innocent, she would stand out amongst the night dwellers like a bright white beacon, ripe for picking. The recent image of the young blonde crying and cringing in a dark Minneapolis alleyway flashed across his memory. In perfect clarity, he saw again the stark fear in her eyes and he heard the depravity of her attacker and would-be rapist, a too-similar wickedness to the whispers he heard now. More satisfying, Edward recalled the pathetic pleas and screams spilling from the deviant's lips as his wretched life had bled from his body.

An angry, possessive snarl rumbled in his chest, increasing in volume with each passing second of indecision and motionlessness. His muscles tensed again, knotting and flexing. Crimson fury tinted his vision and his fists abruptly slammed through the wall behind him in a rain of gray dust and debris. Despite the bloodlust still gnawing and scraping down his throat, the notion of _his_ Bella suffering a similar fate was unfathomable, wholly consuming. She was his and he would annihilate any who dared to touch her.

Imagining Bella on the street alone with these creatures sent him into a tailspin. There was a shift in his consciousness, a rip to his very being, tearing him in two and making room for something new – for whatever it was he shared with Bella.

Without thinking, without pondering the irrationality of his panic or the repercussions of his realizations, he bolted off the wall in a blinding streak of black, pale, and bronze. No mortal eyes could follow his flight, not that he cared. There were no worries of disclosure, for in this moment, the law meant nothing. Instead, his mind and body were trained to smell – to _her_ smell – and to little else. All he could hear were the muffled, blended whispers of the damned and all he could articulate was a relentless growling stream of, "No, no, no."

Out on the street, in but a fraction of a second, he detected her fragrance. Her sweet, floral perfume, spiked with harsh adrenaline, still singed the dank, city air. His eyes, dark from both anger and unease, darted to the left, easily cutting through shadow and glaring headlights as though it were midday. His head whipped around, searching and listening to any and all for any sign of her. Flitting through each mind, he found nothing, no indication of her location or of her well-being.

Following her scent only, his feet pounded against pavement and cement, weaving through cars and down blackened streets, moving far faster than any human pace. In the back of his mind, he catalogued brief glimpses of himself through others' eyes. He was but a shadow, a streaking blur, a wisp of wind that lifted the hair on the backs of their necks. Most questioned if their visions were real, if the black-clad ghost was just that, an ephemeral figment of the night.

Bella had gone so far, much farther than he'd thought her capable, and of course, in an utter lack of self-preservation, she'd ventured in the worst possible direction. Block after block, he trailed her dissipating perfume, and block after block, the thoughts of those around him grew darker still, seedy and malicious. Nothing good or safe walked these streets; he counted himself amongst them.

Gusts of wind whipped between the buildings and her scent grew ever fainter, carried away. It was too dispersed, and at a cross street he didn't know which way to turn. Cursing her silence, Edward paused and listened once more.

Everywhere he turned, all he heard were meaningless conversations and all he could see were unimportant faces. Bleak dread, a fear he couldn't recall ever feeling, eclipsed his rage and he found himself feverishly pacing back and forth underneath blacked out signs and broken street lamps. He was at a loss, helpless as he waited for some indication of where she had gone. Her heartbeat, that mimicked cadence his mind had inexplicably created, began hammering in his ears, keeping time with his steps. His insides twisted, curling and writhing from this new found dread. A premonition of evil acts threatened to overtake reason as in his thoughts, he replaced the victims of earlier visions with Bella.

Reaching out blindly, he searched the minds of any he could find. Scenes played out, images flickered, yet there was nothing. Roaring in frustration and near panic, he gripped a metal signpost, snapping the steel with a flick of his wrist. No one recalled seeing her.

Nothing…

Minutes later, for split second, Edward saw Bella's face. Hidden in shadow, it was distorted and blurry, but her pale complexion and dark eyes were unmistakable. Her mouth was open and her eyes were hard and angry. But Edward saw terror there, too, written in sharp lines on her forehead and the dark hollows of her cheeks. She was yelling something, her hair shaking with her vehemence, but the hearer was so inebriated that he couldn't make out her words. Frantically, Edward searched the wavering vision for signs, buildings, for anything to pinpoint their location, but all he saw were bricks, mortar, and low, orange light.

Another mind, diseased and wicked, then screamed for attention, and through two sets of eyes, Edward watched it all unfold. A man advanced, a hulking mass of muscle and violence, his face unseen. He was still feet away, but his body language told Edward everything he didn't want to know – that he would be too late.

**~.~.~**

"Stay away from me," Bella snapped through gritted teeth. Slowly, never dropping her eyes, she backed away from him, trying to gain more than the arm's reach between them. While outwardly she was calm, angry even, inside she was trembling and quivering in terror. The glow of the street lamp barely touched the murky alley, but its light glinted off blackened, liquid eyes. There was malice and danger there. They were dark, menacing, and they smiled as his hands reached out like talons. His cracked lips were spread wide, exposing his teeth, and his heavy brows were high; he was amused by her boldness.

"Just where do you think you're going?" The way his mouth twisted around his words made her shiver. His accent was hard to place, fluid and smooth, but the tone was off, malicious and matching his eyes. There was no mistaking his intent. There was no denying what he wanted from her. "You are a pretty little thing. What's got you running this late at night? All by yourself, too. And in a bad neighborhood. Little girls like you shouldn't be out at night like this. It's _dangerous._"

He took another step forward and his smile widened.

"Leave me alone, you son of a bitch!" she yelled, fisting her hands in front of her. Quashing the mounting panic, she focused, mentally spinning through all the self-defense lessons her father had given her. Her eyes darted to his knees, his groin, his nose, and his throat. She looked for any sign of weakness, but she found none. This man was huge, a monster who stood at least a foot above her and whose shoulders were twice her width. As he laughed at her defiance, she watched thick, corded biceps, decorated in webs of black ink, ripple and flex. Even if she managed a swing, he would see it a mile away and be able to deflect. This man was fighter; he would crush her. Or worse.

"Oh, come now, sweet thing. Don't be difficult. We just want to keep you company for a while," he answered, openly leering at the thin cotton of her shirt. He was excited, aroused by the thrill of the chase. He hoped she would scream.

Cursing herself and her misfortune, Bella bit back a high-pitched laugh mingled with a sob. Her mind and body were exhausted, just on the precipice of collapse and shut down. All her adrenaline had been spent, and her muscles cried out in pain. After running through the streets of New York, escaping the most lethal predator known to humankind, she'd run directly into the arms of a different kind of predator. After surviving for days, _he_ would be the one to kill her, not Edward.

_Not Edward_, she thought, and a different spike of pain shot through her midsection. _Save me. Save me, Edward_, she chanted, though she had no hope he would. The words sounded familiar, like she had said them before, but she couldn't place when or where. She didn't know why his name came to mind, first above all others. But it – his name – sounded in her mind like clanging bells. _Save me, please._

In her periphery, the man's companion nonchalantly leaned against a wall, but there was unambiguous hunger in his eyes as well. Tall and lean, he rocked off the brick wall and padded to her left, boxing her in between the wall behind her and the larger man in front.

"Look at her shaking, Lonnie," he purred.

Her breathing turned shallow, labored, and her lungs begged for oxygen. The alleyway smelled of rotting garbage, and there was thick musky scent that made her stomach roll. It hung in the air, cloying and too sweet on her tongue. She could hear her own heartbeat flying, slamming against her chest.

"Leave me alone!" Bella whispered, her angry façade now gone and her voice now absent of all confidence. She was begging and she flinched away when the tall, lean man reached out and fingered through her hair. She swung her fist, but he easily caught it, deflecting it away as though it were nothing more than a baby's swat. He gripped her wrist, bruising it and making her cry out.

The larger man – Lonnie – laughed and her blood turned to ice. She kicked, aiming for his groin, trying to do something – _anything_ – to slow their attack. "Feisty… I like that," Lonnie chuckled, knocking her attempt away. "You'll be fun."

Then they were both touching her, sliding their dirty fingers down her face, tugging at her hair, pulling on her shirt collar. The leaner one reached down to the seam of his faded jeans and she heard a zipper open. Bella screamed and wildly swung her balled fists, but she was no match against them both.

"Edward, please!" she whimpered, knowing he wouldn't hear but saying it anyway. Hot, salty tears streaked down her face, and the tears blurred her vision until all she could see was a watercolor of blacks and grays and flashes of orange light. Her breathing picked up, nearing hyperventilation. Retreating inward, Bella closed her eyes as she felt their hands pawing, and she screamed again.

A cold wind whipped through the alley, pebbling her skin and stealing her remaining breath. Roaming hands suddenly disappeared and she heard a loud crunch and the crumble of mortar. A blood-curdling shriek bounced off the walls around her, and when she opened her eyes, the tall, lean man was nowhere to be found.

Frantic and confused she swiveled her head around, searching.

Edward slammed the man against the wall again. His frail human body broke, his bones shattering from the force. Blood pooled underneath his bruised skin and a long line of saliva dribbled from his mouth, but none of it held anything for Edward. The thirst was strangely absent; instead, a different kind of bloodlust reigned, consuming all reason.

"N-n-n-no!" the man begged when Edward's hand curled around his neck, squeezing and constricting airflow.

All Edward could see were these vile men touching his Bella and all he could hear were her screams, crying out for him to save her.

"You filthy human," Edward spat, uncontrolled fury distorting his voice and words. He leaned in, skimming the column of his throat, breathing icy air along his skin. "I should drain you drop by drop. I should draw your death out and make you feel unspeakable pain. Because I can. I can make you welcome death. I can make you fall to your knees and beg me for it."

He lifted the man by his neck and slammed him into the wall a third time – a fourth – a fifth – over and over, each time full of pure rage and the unadulterated _need_ for destruction. The man's face swelled and paled. Struggling against Edward's iron grip, he wheezed and coughed and blood vessels burst in his eyes, coloring white bright red. Edward could smell his fear and the evidence of his body's loss of all function. As if to taunt him, though more likely an unconscious effect, Bella's face came to life in his mind again, and Edward roared in outrage. Without thinking, he flexed his fist and there was a gruesome snap as the man's spine broke. Crimson poured from his mouth and nose and ears, and with a final thud, his heart ceased.

As if in a daze, Bella watched as Edward slung her attacker down the alleyway. His body, crumpled and broken, skidded across the pavement, landing in a mangled heap of skin and bones. He didn't look like a man. His limbs were buckled and bent, and blood covered his chest and face. In front of her, her other attacker was frozen as if he were unable to move. His dark eyes were wide and filled with horror as he watched Edward's lean form stalk toward him.

While indistinct in the dark to her human eyes, she could still see Edward's. His irises were jet black, starkly contrasted against his ethereal bone-white countenance, and his angular features were twisted into a livid snarl. Taut and ready to spring, his focus was trained on the man beside her, and a loud and thundering growl, bone-chilling and vicious, echoed and reverberated between the buildings.

Lonnie looked from her to Edward and back again, quickly processing, gauging his chances and debating on grabbing Bella as a shield. He was too strung out and too terrified to realize who – or what – he was facing. Desperately, he stepped behind Bella, and immediately, Edward slowed his advance.

Edward paused ten yards away. His hands balled by his sides, absorbing his need for obliteration. In a low and utterly calm voice, oozing with the promise of death, he threatened, "I will peel the skin layer by layer from your body if you lay one finger on her again. And you will be conscious for it all." He stepped forward, closing the gap another few feet. "As it stands, I will merely kill you as I did the other. But I swear if you touch her, you will writhe in agony for days on end. I swear it."

Edward looked at Bella, swiftly taking in her appearance, searching for any sign of injury. When he saw her wrist and the already blossoming purple print where she had been manhandled, it took all he had not to rush forward and take the man down. He didn't, however, because there was still that slight risk that he could harm her in the process. Abruptly, in that moment of hesitation, Edward realized that whether she had known it or not, Bella had been right when she had called him on his delays and on his failures. Despite his charge and duty and despite the blinding thirst her perfumed blood ignited, even the idea of harming her – for whatever reason – was not an option.

Meeting his gaze, Bella stared at the angry crease of Edward's brow. Inexplicably, the murderous glare softened. His whole face warmed as he looked at her, and she didn't understand why. But in that instant, all her fear left her and she felt _safe, _despite their circumstance.

A shuffle of boots behind her alerted her to the fact that her attacker was running, noting Edward's pause and using it to escape. He was almost to the street, his foot almost touching the outside sidewalk, but Edward was there. He was faster, streaking by her to chase him down.

With a hard jerk, Edward pulled the man back into the alleyway and raised him by his collar. Lonnie blubbered a stream of excuses and pleas, and Edward heard nothing but babbles from his mind. Edward's hand lifted, preparing to grip him by the throat in the same manner in which he'd disposed of his accomplice. A choked sob tore from the man's chest and he begged for his life. Edward's fingers wrapped around skin and spine, dipping between tendons and muscles. A puff of alcohol laden air, soured by stomach acid, washed across his face

"No," Edward heard behind him, stilling his motion. Bella's voice, soft and raspy from her cries said again, "No, Edward. Stop."

Edward turned his head and gaped at her pleading eyes. Her features were contorted and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Incredulous and not understanding, he hissed, "What? What are you saying?"

"Please don't kill anyone else. Please," she begged again. Part of her wanted this man's death; she wanted his suffering and wanted vengeance. But another death – even his – was more than she could tolerate. Too many had already died because of him – because of _her_.

"You make no sense, Isabella. You are in shock."

She shook her head.

"You didn't hear him. They were going to… ra-…_ hurt_ you." His eyes flashed in anger but averted as he stumbled across the words, avoiding looking at her directly. In his chest, another growl hummed in agreement, petitioning for the kill. "They were going to kill you afterward. How can you expect me to leave him alive?"

Bella blanched, paling at his words. He knew their minds, and he merely affirmed what she'd already known. For a moment, she was stunned by his sudden declaration, not comprehending the shift.

"How are you any different?" Bella blurted, as she cautiously approached and extended her hand to touch his shoulder. "You were going to kill me, too. As far as I know, you still intend to!"

His mind rocked at her accusation. Were he to kill this man, her near-murderer, she would be right; he would be no different. He _was_ no different. Why did it matter?

When her fingers made contact, warmth trickled through his shirt and what felt like electric current jolted him, splintering across his skin. "Then what would you have me do?" he managed through clenched teeth. He _needed_ this man's death like he needed blood to subsist.

"Police. I don't care. Something. Just… not _you_. Not when there is a choice. Please."

Frustrated and baffled by her irrational guilt, his fingers dug into the man's skin. There was a moan of pain and through the thin veil of flesh, Edward could feel the cords of muscle separating between his fingers. _Just a little more_, Edward thought, tempted and wanting, _and he's through. How can she plead mercy for this – for this slime of humanity? How can she not want his death?_

"Please," she whispered, flattening her palm against his upper arm.

The pain in her expression, leeching into her voice, stole his fury. If he killed this man – a death he wanted more than anything – _he_ would hurt _her_. Not physically, but taking this evil wretch's life would cause her pain, regardless of its merit. Like before, knowing this, for whatever reason, he _couldn't._ With a final snarl, he launched the man through the air and into the back of the alleyway. When his body hit the pavement, his bones gave way and snapped, but Edward could still hear his heart beating.

Edward gritted his teeth, bewildered by his own reactions, that he so easily gave in to her wishes. He turned and stared. When he carelessly sucked in air, fire lit. The now-familiar burn crept up his throat, but somehow, at least in this moment, it was manageable. It still scorched him, still left him nearly gasping from its intensity, but he found he could resist. At least temporarily, her proximity was tolerable.

Bella smiled a weak smile and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, her features slackened and her eyes rolled back. Like a rag doll, her knees gave way and her whole body went limp. Edward's eyes shot wide but instantly, he was there to capture her falling form from touching the ground. Without stopping to think or consider, holding his breath, he carefully lifted her, cradling her against his chest.

Her heat was incredible, warming him throughout the moment their bodies touched, and the yawning ache that he'd felt in her absence sealed shut, vanishing. The implications were staggering, too much for him to grasp and to admit. Her head lolled and nestled into the crook of his neck, her hair tickling his chin and jaw. Edward gulped, struggling not to breathe but wanting to oh-so-much. Confused but strangely at peace, he lifted his eyes to the sky and whispered, "What are you doing to me?"

.

.


	14. A Shift in the Foundation

**A Shift in the Foundation**

* * *

Her position on the cream-colored sofa never faltered. For days on end, Alice had sat, still as stone, her focus never leaving the shifting futures she viewed only in her mind. All else, including the one whose arms held her when she shook, fell away. Still staring at Bella's picture, her now thirsty, pitch-tinted eyes watched and waited, begging for that slim opening, that one chance.

It was a flawed gift, seeing the future unfold, though few recognized it. Sometimes, Alice saw nothing at all, and then other times, she saw too much at once, too many decisions made too close together. There was no controlling when the visions would come, and more often than not, they came too late. Regardless, each and every pair of decisions and outcomes she saw was catalogued, processed, and recalled as only a vampire's mind could manage.

So many times and in so many ways Alice had seen Bella die by his hand, yet none were so gruesome and so impossible to bear as the death she had been forced to endure in the early hours of the morning. At least _he_ only wanted her blood; they – _her own kind _– wanted far more, and the images to which Alice had borne witness had sent her into convulsions.

What had possessed the Volturi guard – _Edward_ – to save Bella was beyond her skill to see. At the last possible second, when her body was already trembling with the uncontrollable tearless sobs of anticipated mourning, Alice had seen his snap decision to bolt off the wall and give chase. She knew that he'd succeeded only because had he failed, there would be nothing but blackness when she looked. No, instead of darkness, Bella's future was once again a swirling maelstrom of choices and consequences. Now, however, something was different; something had fundamentally shifted and it gave her the barest sliver of hope. While Bella still died more often than not, Alice no longer saw delight in his kills, nor did she see the bloody scenes of torture or the rampant violence. For some reason that remained unclear, he didn't _want_ to kill her. But lack of intent did not mean that it wouldn't happen. Anything but, especially now that there were _others_ involved and watching. And the _others_ were indecisive and impossible to track; they were too busy warring between themselves.

It was a game of chess with no determined victor. There were still so many variables and too many pieces in play, all of which were absolutely lethal. No matter how many ways they tried to locate some loophole – to find some way to rescue her – every single time she or her family even thought to intervene, Bella ended up cold and drained. And worse, even after her death, the wrath of Italy would be upon _them_. The whole family would be hunted down and slaughtered and all would be for naught. Despite the ever-so-brief victory that Bella continued to breathe, there was nothing that they could do; Bella's fate was not up to them at all. Her only hope lay in the hands of the very one sent to destroy her.

Alice swayed, exhausted and near delirious from concentration and days of emotional torment. While it was impossible to feel true physical fatigue, her spirit and mind were bent and splintering, so close to breaking and collapse. How much more she could take, Jasper didn't know. Alice's shoulders folded inward, making her seem smaller still, and his arms automatically tightened to hold her up. The waves of sheer dread emanating from her drooping body were almost more than he could withstand. They battered and pummeled him from all sides, never relenting.

"Alice," Jasper soothed through clenched teeth, pushing out a wave of his own, a wall of tranquilizing calm to absorb her fear. He cupped her face, gently thumbing her porcelain cheek. "Please, stop searching. Just for a moment. You need to feed. It's been too long."

She buried herself in the crook of his neck, inhaling both comforting sandalwood and the quiet strength won by wars, and rasped, "I should have been there, Jasper. I shouldn't have let us leave Forks in the first place. She had every right to join our family. We _denied_ her. We abandoned her. If she dies now, it's all my fault."

**~.~.~**

The ground was cold and hard beneath her bare feet. Tiny crumbles of rock, sharp and cutting, dug into tender flesh as she raced through the shadowy tunnel. In the arc of a distant bend, flames from a gas lamp licked up the wall, glowing and exposing ancient limestone bricks, worn smooth by the passing of the centuries. The air was damp and ice-cold as it whipped across her face, and when she breathed in, her lungs heaving from exertion, she smelled the cloying sweetness of vampire mixed with spilt human salt and iron.

Bella's heart was pounding and terror seized her mind, blocking coherency or forethought. She knew not where she was heading, but the echoing cries of pain, bouncing off the walls, propelled her forward. The tunnel was so dark that her human eyes could only see outlines and shapes, and it stretched for miles, never ending, forever winding through the earth. Stopping was an impossibility, however, even though her thighs were now numb, her feet were bloody and screaming in protest, and her chest ached. Because with each stride, the cries grew louder still. There was no hope of turning back. The anguish, the shrill pleading, pierced her to her very soul, and despite the distortion of sound and pitch, her body trembled in recognition.

"Edward!" Bella choked, stumbling into stone and mortar. Her voice was hollow and it had no volume over the sound of his agony. There was a stab to her heart and it felt like there was no air, that her lungs were constricting, refusing to accept the very oxygen they needed. Her vision blurred from streaking tears, but she pushed on, now knowing her destination and the reason for her race.

In the distance, there was an opening of amber light. Like the moth to the flame, she flew to the lighted square, listening for the screams that had abruptly gone silent. Her heartbeat thudded, disjointed and slamming against her sternum as she fell through the open doorway, her palm just catching the corner and latching on to keep herself upright.

When she looked up, her eyes found him. Kneeling on bloodstained tile with his head wedged between two bone-white fists, his expression twisted and contorted, writhing beneath an unseen attacker. The last remaining breath of air panted across her lips, loud in the silence of the medieval chamber, and he immediately looked up. Their eyes met, and she started at the rust coloring his once-crimson irises. Her lips parted and the pain set in his features relaxed as if he'd heard an answer to an unspoken prayer.

"Just in time…" a demonic voice hissed, wrenching her focus away.

Three dark figures stood in a loose semi-circle around him, their midnight robes skimming the floor. Pasty white, chalky almost, the three kings of the night pronounced their judgment and flayed him with scarlet glares. Hovering behind the figure on the right, Bella saw a girl. Her lips curled up in a wicked sneer and like the others, her gaze was trained to Edward's supplicant form. A cherubic laugh, high and tinkling, cut through the air, and then Edward's eyes slammed shut and his face crumpled again under the weight of torture.

"Stop it!" Bella wailed. Her body refused to obey her mind's command and she was left frozen and helpless to halt his pain. "Please, God, stop!"

The demon king in the middle, the one who held Edward's skull, smiled at her. Time warped as she watched his snow-white shock of hair whip around as he looked back down to Edward. Menacing with evil delight, he hissed once again, "You failed us, _Edward_. Your existence is forfeit. Know this… once you are ash, she, too, will soon follow."

Bella's upper half lurched forward, but her feet were still unable to move. She screamed as fissures appeared and spread, cracking like broken glass across Edward's flawlessly smooth face. A thousand knives stabbed her when she watched his eyes glaze, turning flat. Sluggishly, they swept the room until they captured hers once more. His mouth slacked and he whispered with unspeakable pain etched in his voice, "_Bella_…"

"Edward! No!"

"Isabella?"

"Edward… oh, God…" she cried, wet tears rolling down her cheeks, spotting the white sheet gray.

"Isabella? Please wake," Edward whispered, sharp distress coloring his tone.

He'd called her name at least half a dozen times, yet she would not wake. Instead, she sobbed in her sleep, moaning his name as if she were grieving. Her small frame shook and her teeth chattered despite the layers of bedclothes with which he'd covered her. The sight of her unrestrained tears and sorrow bit into him, slicing him wide with a sense of helplessness he'd never experienced. Edward could not name this emotion, but like before, her suffering ignited something similar, an echo of it, perhaps, in him.

The ties he felt to this small human woman were unnatural and nothing good could ever come of them, but he could no longer deny their presence. Conscious or not, a decision had been made the moment he'd sent her away, refusing to drink her in the height of his bloodlust, when her mouth had been upon his. His choice had been cemented as truth when he'd launched himself off the wall to find her, and then hardened ever more when he'd killed in her name.

While he burned because of her and while his teeth gritted from the urge to sink into the fragrant, pulsing flesh beneath her jaw, intentionally killing her was no longer an option. What that meant, what he would do with that knowledge – if he even had the control necessary – he didn't know. One thing, however, he knew beyond all dispute. His allegiance to his masters was now adrift, severed completely in that split second of choice, and he'd stepped across too many lines, ones that would surely condemn him one way or another.

Bella kicked at the sheets and then abruptly curled her body into a tight, defensive fetal ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. He winced, powerless, as tremors continued to course through her frail body. Bemused by the situation, hers and, more so, his own, he wasn't sure what to do – what he _should _do, if anything. He could only imagine what she saw in her mind as she cried. She'd seen the nightmares first hand, the monsters – both the living and the dead.

"Please, please, don't…" she whimpered. "Edward…" Fresh tears rolled down her face and her breathing hiccuped and shuddered.

Something deep inside drove him from his distant perch. Quietly, careful to hold his breath to avoid being inundated by her succulent scent despite the long hours he'd spent in her presence, Edward padded across the room. Hesitantly, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed beside her.

"Isabella?" he murmured, lowering his voice to a soothing croon. At his nearness, the deep pucker between her eyes relaxed infinitesimally, but her fingers were still tangled in her sweat-soaked hair, pulling and tugging in reaction to the unknown terror of her dream world. He was at a loss, ill-prepared as to how to stop her nightmares. After a moment of indecision, as if handling delicate glass, he pried her hands away from her hair, uncurling her grip finger by finger.

When their skin connected, his muscles locked, as what he could only describe as a jolting current skittered underneath his flesh. It throbbed like pulses of electricity, thrumming to the rush of her flowing blood and beating heart. The vampire in him growled, but when Bella calmed beneath his touch, sighing in apparent relief, something akin to pure, unveiled satisfaction and bone-deep pleasure swelled, and he lingered, holding her small hand, marveling at the softness and the warmth. Closing his eyes, Edward listened to the thump of her heart, gulping back the fiery venom that swamped his mouth.

Even as she slept, Bella's fist, white-knuckled and tight, clutched his as if she were unwilling to allow his departure. For two hours more, Edward sat, unmoving and purposefully scorching his throat. Despite the ash and fire, he was struck by the peace he felt. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted it to end; it felt like _home_, as strange and improper as it was. There was purpose there, and in the same breath, there was a kind of liberation. He felt bound, yet free, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot all else and basked in it.

It wasn't until mid-day, when bars of translucent sunlight peeked around the edges of the window, that he felt her stir. He almost wished she would drift back to sleep, for surely, his proximity would no longer be permissible once she awoke.

She could smell him before she could see him. Everything else was fuzzy but that scent, the one she knew even in her dreams. Greedily, she sucked in air, tasting sweetness and something indescribable, something that made her think of sunny spring days. It was a soothing balm that somehow washed away the catch in her throat and the tightness of her shoulders. Involuntarily, she stretched out, feeling soreness and stiffness creep though her legs and back. When she moved to lift her arm, it caught, and abruptly, she realized that her fingers were locked between other fingers, marble ones that were far colder than hers. Instead of jerking away, however, she squeezed the unyielding flesh before fluttering her eyes open.

The room was dim but she knew that it was day. Light streamed from the window, framing his outline and reflecting a rainbow of reds and golds and rich coppery hues. He stared down at her, perfectly still, his expression one of apprehension and taut restraint. His irises were deep claret and they traced her face, searching for something. She wished that she could read his mind.

"What time is it?" she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. Her throat was sore, but she wasn't sure why.

"A little after noon," he answered, matching her volume.

"You let me sleep?"

He nodded, still holding his breath. She appeared to be disoriented, but he wasn't surprised considering the trauma she'd undergone. Any other human would have fared far worse. But then, he'd learned from the moment he'd taken her from the library that Bella never seemed to ascribe to normalcy. Her instincts and reactions were one hundred and eighty degrees off. The fact that she still clutched him was evidence of that.

Bella looked around. The room had changed. Gone were the gilded lamps and wall sconces, and the lush gold comforter had been replaced with sleek and modern gray. Mahogany was now tawny maple and a flat shiny screen graced the wall instead of antique oils. It smelled differently, too. Her nose filtered past the scent that she knew only as 'Edward' and found linen and lavender, not the citrusy spice she'd come to expect.

"Where are we?" she queried, still trying to get her bearings.

Edward's brow creased and he stared at her with unexplainable scrutiny. She watched his chest rise and fall, an almost imperceptible but nonetheless intentional movement, as if he weren't sure if his lungs would function. He blinked and the angled line of his jaw rolled twice before he finally answered. "Hotel. I didn't think it would be wise to return to the apartment. Considering recent events." He did not mean _Lonnie_. _He_ was no longer any kind of threat to her; he never would be again. But there were far more dangerous killers to fear, not that relocating within the city would give him much time should Demetri be sent.

She shook her head, trying to clear the residual sleep from her mind, and sat up. Looking down, she stared at their clasped hands and the way their fingers dovetailed in perfect match, not grasping how they'd come to be that way. Their skin was remarkably close, both pale and smooth; it was almost indiscernible to her human eyes where his ended and hers began. It was a strange sensation, the chill and the rigidity of his grip. It wasn't painful in any way; it felt solid, immovable, yet at the same time, it was gentle. It felt… _right_, as if by design. His skin was cold to the touch, but she felt anything but.

"You don't remember?" he pushed, the crease in his forehead deepening. Instead of answering, she wrapped her free hand around their entwined ones, encasing him in sublime heat. It took everything he had to stifle the resultant groan of contentment. Even when he had carried her in the night, he hadn't felt this – her bare skin against his own, willingly and freely of her own accord.

"You saved me," she breathed. "I remember. _Too much_." Her skin pebbled and she swallowed as the events of the night came rushing back in a torrent of seedy alleyway stenches and greasy, prodding hands. Her hold tightened rather than loosened and she pulled his hand closer to her chest, hugging it to her, reflexively searching for comfort.

She looked up and met his wary, confused face. "Why? Why didn't you just let them… why did you come after me?"

It was his turn to look away. Unable to articulate a response that would make any sense to her, Edward watched a million specks of shimmering dust float and dance in the sunlight. He could barely understand himself. What was occurring, what had shifted the foundation of his being, was simply unheard of; it was absurd and impossible, let alone explainable.

"Look at me," she commanded. Edward's head whipped around, startled by the heat that colored her voice. Softer, unsure, she pressed, "Are you still going to kill me?"

As if to torment him more or to test the very last shred of his control, the air handling system came on and it was just like before; her perfume, unutterable in its perfection, slammed into him, nearly knocking him to his knees. Bella watched as his eyes shaded and then screwed shut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but the tension of his touch never changed, and he did not pull away.

"Not intentionally," he managed. He opened his eyes, coal-black with bloodlust, willing her to understand. "But that doesn't mean that I won't by mistake."

"What do you mean? Why is it so hard for you to be near me?"

"When I said that you were made for me…" he paused, waiting for a sign of recognition or remembrance.

Bella nodded. "I remember. You said 'you were designed for me. You're _mine_. You are the only thing that's ever belonged to me and me alone' and then you told me that I wouldn't understand it. Explain that."

He came back fast and harsh, pulling no punches, the better side of him wanting her to finally comprehend the risk. "You are the most luscious smelling creature I've ever encountered. Every single instinct I have tells me to bite and to drain you. Your blood _sings_, Isabella. It's like a siren, but I'm the only one it calls. It's the perfect combination for me and me alone. In our world, to find and drink one's _singer_ is the height of ecstasy. Some of us go millennia and never find her. If I'd known such a fragrance was possible when I was changed, I'd have spent the last century combing the earth searching for you."

Bella's breathing halted as she sifted through his declaration. His blunt words should have sent her into hysterics, knowing that she was nothing more than the prized prey of the world's most lethal predator. Yet they did nothing of the sort; no, if anything, irrational warmth flooded her chest and climbed her cheeks. She could feel her heart pick up in time.

"You're frightened," he guessed, avoiding the tempting blush that dappled the column of her throat. "You should know how close you were – how close you _are_ still – to losing your life."

His eyes were soft, and there was an unvoiced plea behind them of which he was unaware.

"No. No, I'm not afraid of you." Her counter was swift and certain, for frightened she was not. The same urge that had pushed her mouth to his before reared its head, and she gasped from its intensity. Edward's thumb circled the back of her hand, a seemingly unconscious motion on his part, but it lit fire to her skin. The air between them was rarified and buzzing, and it was all she could muster to maintain her position. In a hoarse whisper, she went on, "You resisted. Why would you even try? And don't you dare say it's just my silent mind."

A different kind of anxiety strangled his response. "No, not just your mind, though it was a distraction at first, I'll admit. I don't know _why_." Though in fact, he did. She could never understand that kind of binding.

Undeterred, she pressed his palm flat against her chest directly over her thudding heart. Her own actions startled her. It was like she was possessed, like her motions were stolen and not her own. Bella wondered if it were possible for _him_ to _sing_ to _her_, for that was exactly what it felt like. When he tried to pull away, she held his hand in place, not by physical force, but by merely willing his obedience. "Yes, you do, Edward. You know as well as I do. You're mine just as surely as I'm yours." Her dark dreams flashed behind her eyes as the truth of her statement descended.

Edward flinched at her words and her heartbeat resonated through his palm, down his arms, until it filled and beat inside his hollow chest. It was like oscillating waves, rolling and crashing into him, staggering in both sound and force. He wanted to drown in the feeling, and unable to stop himself, not fully realizing what he was doing, he pulled her wrist to his open mouth.

Space and time shimmered. Closing his eyes, he glided his nose along her skin in a war of twin internal wills. Turning his head, he pressed her palm against his cheek, but instead of baring his teeth, his lips grazed her tender flesh, his tongue hesitantly darting out to taste – _Once… twice_… and then a third time.

A shiver rolled across Bella's skin and her lids wavered at the intimacy of his gesture. Sheer, unbridled pleasure shot down her spine – more intense than anything she'd ever felt in the bed of a lover – and everything in her wanted to attack him as she'd done before. But instead, now that she understood, she maintained the distance he needed, and without thinking, her fingers skimmed along his bottom lip, caressing and kissing him back with their tips.

Just on the brink of surrender, Edward breathed and the flames in his throat roared to life, reminding him how unequal they were, how fragile she was and how easily he could crush her. She would not be able to withstand the weight of _this_. "I can't have you. I shouldn't," he murmured, meaning the depth and strength of her draw.

"It's not up to you anymore."

"Don't say that," Edward growled, the reverberations traveling through her all the way to her toes. Smoldering fire crackled between them.

Bella's eyes narrowed in challenge, but she refused to pull her hand away. "You don't control this any more than I do. What, are you just going to let me go now that you've decided not to drink me? If that's the case, then why the hell did you save me last night? Why didn't you let them _rape…" _she paused, waiting for the fury she somehow _knew_ that reminder would ignite,_ "…_ and _kill _me. Or better still, do you think your _masters_ won't know? Do you think they won't just send one of your _brothers_ to finish what you couldn't?" Her retort was more flippant and heated than she initially meant, but his angry response had fueled hers.

With crystal clarity, exactly as she'd intended, Edward relived the vile thoughts and imaginings of her attackers. He growled again as their faces blurred and morphed into those he'd known since the moment he awoke to this half-life of an existence, and white-hot wrath pulsed, invading and eclipsing all reason.

"_They_ will not touch you. _None_ _of them_._ Ever._"

.

.


	15. A Choice to Bleed

**A Choice to Bleed**

* * *

The air was saturated with blood. Newly spilled, it splattered the walls in sprays of thick, wet droplets that defied gravity and clung to ancient stone. Layered beneath, forever etched in the hollow pores and spidery cracks, were dark, shadowy stains, evidence of feasts long past. Coloring the floor, chasing the low steel drains, the fragrant scarlet rivers flowed freely, seeping from the now discarded fodder.

In stark contrast to the macabre scene behind them, a small grouping of pale men and women, each decorated with sweeping robes and coveted finery, stood before three thrones. In the dim light of the flickering gas lamp, freshly fed, their skin gleamed and the crimson of their eyes shone bright. When from the dais one spoke in curt dismissal, his voice ringing in the vast chamber, their heads bowed in supplication and they immediately obeyed, leaving but three remaining.

Aro glared past the pile of bodies, his face drawn in an icy scowl. The feeding had done nothing to assuage his ire, and inside, he was still boiling. For weeks had passed and there had been no word from Edward. His task – _tasks – __should_ have been simple, yet nothing but silence replied to his summons and calls. Caius's snarling accusations now burned in his memory, and he was forced to acknowledge the possibility of his minion's treachery. It was such a rarity inside of these walls – _betrayal_ – for all knew the fate of the disloyal.

Because of Edward's failure, Aro's carefully laid plans were now in shambles. It made him angry, and stoking the fire was the knowledge that in his all-consuming need for order and law, his _brother_ had overstepped.

"When were they dispatched?" Aro seethed.

A smile played across Caius's lips, amused by Aro's insult and affront. Arrogant as always, he believed himself to be the master of games and of politics, but by Caius's estimation, he relied too heavily upon his gift and his penchant for talented toys overshadowed his reasoning. Aro was too volatile and too easily swayed by shiny objects to rule effectively. Vampires were too powerful a species to be governed so loosely. They required an iron fist; otherwise, their world would devolve into chaos.

"Demetri and Felix are in New York now. They are watching from afar and waiting for my word. I suspected that your pet would fail, as he has. Demetrios tells me that he has yet to kill the girl. She's been in his possession for days. His intent is clear, Aro; your ungrateful crown jewel aims to escape his duty as well as those who granted him life."

"Perhaps-"

"There is no perhaps! _Edward,_" Caius spat, his teeth bared and slick with venom, "has failed and he has betrayed his coven and his kind. His orders were clear: kill her. The girl is a risk to us all and you know it. Because of _your_ vanity, she knows our faces and our names. By law, she must die. Nonetheless, he refuses, knowing the consequence. You are too weak, and as such, his fate is mine to decide!" His voice boomed, an echoing thunder reverberating through the room. With an earsplitting crash, his fist pounded the gilded armrest to his left. Glittering shards exploded, scattering and raining down to the floor.

"It was not your place to send them," Aro snapped. "And Demetri is mine, not yours to command."

Caius sneered, "And you overreach, dearest _brother_. You've lost control of him. Both of them." His eyes flickered to the third vampire in the room, but as always, he remained silent.

Aro stood, his black robe billowing and rolling. Towering above the white-haired vampire, his face twisted into a menacing glower, and he snarled, "I will not allow you to destroy him until I've read him. He is too valuable and I want his memories. Do you understand, Caius? Edward will be brought back here. Alive."

Caius's hands curled into talons and his eyes seemed ablaze. "And afterward? After you've picked his brain and found your elusive future-teller – if such even exists – what then?"

"Once I've seen his mind, his punishment is yours to decide."

**~.~.~**

Still as stone, Marcus looked on, his face a mask of impassivity and cool composure. Visible only to his gifted sight, the dim glowing strand that connected the two vampires pulsed angrily with their vehemence, indicative of the never ceasing strain between them. Even from the beginning, theirs was a tenuous relationship purely based on power and alliance.

As always, Marcus stood distant and took no part in their squabbling, bored by the constant warring, deceit, and struggles for power. It had always been this way between Aro and Caius, two sides to a coin battling for dominance and rule, yet neither vampire was willing to finish it, to be done with it once and for all. Wisely, they feared the repercussions that would inevitably ripple throughout their world if they were to actually act. After all, it was only their numbers and allegiance that kept the two Romanians at bay. So behind a veil of solidarity, they bickered like children and played their backbiting games.

A subtle movement in his periphery drew his attention. Lifted by a gust wind through a high open window, a long swath of heavy brocade coiled and danced. Dark as night, curling and whipping, it immediately reminded him of _her_, and a stab of long-borne anguish pierced his chest. Beneath his robe, her amulet lay heavily against his skin, and the temptation to succumb, to lose himself in remembrance, was too much.

It had been more than two millennia since she'd been taken, stolen by an unknown attacker and burned in the night. Yet for Marcus, no time at all had passed.

He saw her as he always did, his _Didyme, _the lone beacon of light in over three thousand years. He closed his eyes and smiled wistfully as in perfect, vampire clarity, the memory of her flawless, luscious human fragrance stung his nostrils and scorched his throat. How he had resisted her on that rocky slope outside of Fufluna, he never knew or understood. He could see her pale robes fluttering in the breeze and he could hear the song of her laughter, calling him, beckoning him forward. The pull, her blood's draw, had been so strong, so alive and writhing, that he'd destroyed half a village that night in defiance of her. She was _his_ to take, but instead, she laid claim to him for all time.

Aro would do well to remember that – that _she_ was the sole reason for his existence. Were it not for his sister's love, he would long since have been dust.

In the background of his thoughts, Marcus could hear them, two ancient children, still arguing and fighting for ascendancy. The course of action was clear, and from his position, it was unworthy of the time and energy spent. The girl was unimportant and Edward was… a disappointment. But then, he should have never been changed in the first place; he was a mistake.

_**~.~.~**_

"We can't stay here," he muttered, speaking more to himself than to her.

Bella watched as like a caged lion, he paced the room, his movements anxious, clipped, and far faster than any human's. When he spun on his heel, rounding to face her again, the smooth span of his forehead was creased in thought and his mouth was settled into a hard, straight line.

It was twilight again, and the hotel room was bathed in dim light filtering through the gauzy window coverings. Deeper in the room, however, it was dark, and the flickering images of the television, its volume muted, cast his face in an eerie blue-white. From her position on the sofa, his eyes appeared shadowed and almost sinister. It was the face of death walking, cold, formidable, and determined.

Had she seen him like this for the first time, he would have been frightening.

For the last several hours, the decision now made, Edward had pieced through hundreds of scenarios, all of which came up short. It made him at once both angry and desperate.

A century of experience told him that he would be hunted and that his time, if it were not already, would soon be spent. There was no question that they would send Demetri, and knowing that, Edward understood that there was little hope of escape. From every angle, only one possibility of survival existed. Demetri had to be destroyed, otherwise it would matter not where or how fast they ran. He would always be able to find them. In a world without their tracker, however, there was at least a chance that he could keep her alive.

"Stop," Bella murmured. "Please."

Startled by her voice, his head whipped around and his motions immediately halted in obedience.

"Explain how this… Demetri's talent works. Why do we have to leave? You said he's a tracker?"

There was fear in her voice and in the tension of her shoulders.

Slowly, Edward crossed the room, purposefully inhaling with each step. It was maddening how strongly her blood still called, how the fire in his throat nearly blinded him when he was careless and breathed too deeply. He swallowed, gulping back the venom that wetted his tongue, the never-ceasing reminder of the temptation. Even a foot away, her heat was staggering in its intensity, rolling across the space between them in luxuriant, hot waves that begged him to take her.

Fluid and graceful, he sank down into the cushion. Belying the ease of his limbs, however, his expression was a war of wills. She could see it in the hardening of his jaw, the bob of his throat, and more so, in the darkening scarlet of his eyes. Simultaneously, she saw the longing written there, too, the unexplainable, bone-deep need and draw that mirrored her own. It was a battle that he waged each and every second to resist her. She wanted that fight to end, to alleviate his torment somehow, but she was unsure if there was any way. Time, he had said, time and exposure. But there was always risk, always temptation and thirst.

Hesitantly, asking permission with her eyes, giving him more than ample time to pull away, she reached out to trace his forearm with the tips of her fingers. The moment their bodies connected, even in such a small way, Edward's eyes closed and his lips parted ever so slightly, his lungs expelling in sharp, shallow pants.

"Is this okay?" she breathed, outlining the ridge of a taut, flexing tendon.

It felt like silken strands were tickling along his skin. He could feel every single crown and curve of her fingertips – the minute lines that could barely even be seen by mortal eyes – as they dragged along his flesh, branding him with heat and pressure. The sensations were so acute, so consuming and unlike anything else his body knew. Each time she crossed that natural boundary between them – the line between living and non – it was new, something to which it was impossible to become accustomed. Involuntarily, in answer to her inquiry, his arm flipped over and his fist opened, inviting more. He swallowed again, suppressing the fiery bite of his venom, and whispered, "You can't imagine how that feels."

"Describe it. Tell me." The pressure of her fingers increased, now running more boldly from the inside of his elbow to the base of his wrist, and a low, rumbling hum sounded from deep within his chest. Barely audible, she pressed, "What do I feel like to you?"

Instead of answering, he gently grasped her hand, turning it over to match his. Slowly, Edward mimicked her earlier touch, drawing the pad of his finger along the web of bluish veins that only he could see. He could feel her heartbeat through the thin, pale membrane, a hammering rhythm that jumped in time the moment he took her hand in his. It was at once both enticing and immeasurably soothing. Just as before, in the back of his mind, he could feel it repeating and amplifying, resounding and racing along his limbs, tuning his body into a thrumming echo of hers.

"Close your eyes, Isabella."

Her lip drew between her teeth, but she complied. His touch was indescribable. It left her hot and cold all at once, and everywhere his skin contacted tingled. She sighed as the single, tentative finger turned to two, and then eventually to three. Finally, after innumerable minutes had passed, she felt the entire flat of his palm ghosting up and down her arm, momentarily pausing over her wrist with each circuit. No sound marred the air and behind closed lids she saw only black, but she _felt _him move closer, a sixth sense of sorts that seemed to be honed to him and him alone. Her skin erupted into a field of goose bumps, not from his chill but from the pulse of anticipation that coursed down her spine to the pit of her stomach.

"Warm and so very soft. Unimaginable. I can feel you beneath my skin. Like a hot branding iron," he murmured. A cool, sweet wind whispered across her face, and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.

Stunned by his quiet admission, so uncharacteristic compared to the cool creature she usually saw, her heartbeat stuttered, banging against her ribcage. Opening her eyes, Bella caught his hand, threading her fingers between his. Edward's face was so close to hers, and her body hummed with the urgency and instinct to close the gap. She squeezed, willing him to understand, to feel what she felt, before she lifted their entwined hands to her lips and glided her cheek against his skin. Something that sounded like a whimper spilled across his lips, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his hand to cup the side of her face, thumbing the crest of her cheekbone.

Bella leaned forward into his touch, and instinctively, his focus drew to her lips, wanting to taste, to feel that once more. Bloodlust mingled with longing in an indecipherable blur as he recalled both the softness and suppleness of her skin against his and the decadent, unearthly sweetness that had graced his tongue when he'd tasted her wrist. A sudden heat assaulted, washing through him, pulsing with each thump of her heart, but as if to prove a point, fire leapt up his throat and burned him from the inside. It was tightrope he walked, a fine line between too much and not enough.

Edward's expression twisted, and she immediately understood that she'd stepped too far and that having her mouth so close to his was a mistake; he was too close to the edge. Ever so slowly, Bella retreated, all the while watching the tension in his jaw infinitesimally relax. But instead of withdrawing completely, squeezing his hand once more, she shifted, snaked her arms around the slim taper of his waist, and lowered her cheek to the center of his chest.

_Silence. _

She heard nothing – no heartbeat, no echo, no murmur of air circulating through lungs. She tightened her hold, and the hard planes of his muscles, taut and coiled, rippled beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

How long they sat there, Edward didn't know. But his arms eventually encircled her, unconfident and ill-prepared, but wanting and incapable of denying her. He took a tentative breath, pushing himself. Wincing but maintaining his control despite her nearness and feverish temperature, he held her and stared unseeingly over the top of her head. Thoughts churned and spun, sorting through all he knew. Uncertain of how to keep her – uncertain of everything now that his ties were cut – it felt like there was a weight, an iron anvil, pressing down on his chest, muffling and suffocating him. He wondered just how much of this she understood, if she could possibly comprehend the binding she claimed. Surely, she could not. A human could not withstand the weight and intensity of being eternally bound, of being willingly possessed.

She was so fragile, so frail, yet his stone body, and apparently his soul as well unwittingly yielded to hers. The possibility of her no longer existing was incomprehensible – painful – even as part of him still wanted her blood.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, watching the ticking hands of the clock on the nightstand. He felt helpless, so very opposite of the fury that had driven his earlier declarations.

"Demetri's gift is not dissimilar to mine," Edward explained, finally answering her initial query. "Once he's _seen_ a mind, seen the _print_, if you will, without fail, he can locate it again. It makes no difference if it's been a hundred years or merely one day since he's seen his target, he never forgets. And distance is meaningless. The closer he is, the more precise he can pinpoint, but within a matter of days, he can locate someone starting from thousands of miles away.

"He's catalogued all of the guards' _prints_, including mine. That was a safeguard of sorts that Aro set up long ago. He'll find me, Isabella, and I'll have no choice but to kill him."

Her entire body went rigid as she registered his words. To kill this Demetri meant that there would be fighting, not vampire against human as in that dark alleyway, but vampire against vampire. And not just any vampires, but trained fighters who knew weaknesses. Her stomach writhed and sank and her eyes stung. Like knives, the jagged barbs of fear cut her, leaving her open, bruised, and aching. She was at a loss, a stranger to this world, not knowing how to stop the oncoming freight train.

"I don't know if I can," he went on, acknowledging the sudden spike of fear in her scent with a brush of his hand down her back. Lying to her would be cruel and she deserved the truth. "We're a fairly even match. But there will inevitably be others, and if I'm fighting more than one, I will have no way to keep you safe. If Jane is with him, there's no chance at all."

Bella lifted her eyes, seeking the truth in his words. Even in the weak light, his expression was mournful, stricken, so unlike the blazing fury and resolve she'd seen before. Gone was grim determination; instead, hidden beneath a stoic brow and hardened countenance was a dread that paralleled her own. He didn't have to voice the odds of _his_ survival.

"There's no other way?" she managed, her voice shaking.

"None that I see. We need to leave the city so that we can hide you. They know you are here in New York. Demetri hasn't read you, however… though I'm not entirely sure if he even could considering your silence. If we can get you out, you should be safe at least in the short term. I'll deal with him and any others that they send."

Incredulous, she shook her head. Being separated was a scenario she'd not even remotely considered, and her mind raced through all that she knew and had learned. She had seen her vampires in motion – their speed, their power, the lethality of their very existence. Bella understood, just as surely as she had in that library, that she could offer no assistance. She was too weak. After all, she was mortal – and that was crux of it all. She was a human in their world.

"There's no other way, I'm sure."

Days before, escape was all she could hope, yet now, it left her weak in the knees. It felt wrong in the very pit of her stomach; it was asking for disaster. He was wrong. He had to be.

"Yes, there is." Fisting his shirt to still her shaking hand, Bella continued, hoarsely asking, "Can you locate Carlisle?"

The hand on her back stopped its calming motion. "I can't take you there, Isabella. Demetri knows Carlisle. He was in Volterra those many centuries ago, as well. You are at greater risk with them because if the Volturi believe you are there, they will send more than just Demetri to visit the Cullens." If Edward knew Caius, they would send an army, and of course, Aro would see the battle as an… _opportunity_ to collect. She would be little more than a fortunate casualty.

Bella snapped her eyes shut, and she made her decision, knowing that asking it of him was impossible. "No, Edward, not to protect me. I want him to change me. I don't think they can argue with me now."

.

.

* * *

**A/N:** **  
**  
- You can see that Marcus still retains his canon gift of "seeing" relationships and their strength. In my head, I characterize this as an actual visual manifestation. The stronger the relationship, the brighter the "glow" he sees between two people. While I've not said, you can assume his place of birth was Felathri, an Etruscan city now known as Volterra.

- One point where I disembark from canon is in the back-story of Marcus, Aro, and Didyme. According to the Lexicon, Marcus, Caius, and Aro were _all _changed circa 1000 BC, and in canon, Aro changed Didyme, his sister. You can infer from the second section in this chapter that in _my alternate universe_, Marcus was actually around before Aro and perhaps before Caius. Also, Aro did _not_ change Didyme. You can infer a little more than this, too, if you read carefully.

- Fufluna, aka Populonia, or Populunium, was also an Etruscan city along the coast of present day Italy and it was inhabited roughly around the same time in history as Felathri.

- To be honest, I'm not really happy with the etymology of the name "Didyme" in relation to her place of birth, either here or in canon. But the name certainly existed during the time period, namely in Hellenistic Greece, and interestingly enough, from Greek, it translates to "twin". Rather appropriate, eh?


	16. Taken by Shadows

**Taken by Shadows**

* * *

"What?" he growled, his voice deafening in the confines of the hotel room.

Wrapped around her, like the rest of his body, Edward's arms stiffened, morphing into an iron cage from which she had no chance of escape. When she glanced down to his forearms, rows of tendons and muscle climbed from beneath his skin, flexing and twisting as though he were resisting an overwhelming urge to break something, to unleash in animalistic fury.

Edward closed his eyes and turned his face toward the ceiling, inwardly begging for patience and calm, fearful of losing control. Yet the moment all went black, image after image of her wearing granite flesh and claret eyes assaulted him, derailing all of his efforts to quash the immediate and irrational anger her words ignited.

For when she spoke of her changing, of becoming like him, it was as though light dawned, exposing the truth in ways he'd never seen in his century of solitude and subservience. In so few words, he walked his years again, reliving decade after decade of bloodletting, of destruction, and of never-ending shadows. He recalled the writhing agony of transformation, the relentless fire in his throat, and the insatiable need to devour and to kill.

With perfect, vivid vampire clarity, Edward heard them all; the frantic, tearful cries of his countless victims, audible and silent, roared in his ears. Heavy chains of guilt shackled his mind, holding him prisoner, forcing him to see, and see he did. He saw all of them – old, young, man, woman, and child. He watched their faces and the saw fear in their eyes when his teeth pierced their flesh. He could taste their last drops of blood and he could hear their hearts' last beats. So _many_ had died by his hand – had been _slaughtered_ – so many just like Bella. Something inside of him cracked, exiling his apathy and disregard.

As much as he ached for her, as much as he would suffer in her absence, Bella was too good for his world. His world was blood and murder, dark tunnels and maniacal tyrants. It was unchanging night – eternal darkness. His was the life of the condemned, and hell had nothing to do with God or demons or fiery lakes. No, he burned already in the endless cycle of thirst and blood and death. Damning her to the same, despite the allure of being able to _keep_ her, was incomprehensible.

"You have no idea, Isabella," he whispered, his jaw locked against impending pain. "None whatsoever. You cannot understand what you ask. No, I can't allow it."

It felt as though her legs had been kicked from beneath her. In a single, harsh punch of air, her lungs deflated and her stomach plummeted. Disappointment and ice water rushed through her veins, yet somehow she felt hot, angry – furious even. Tears of frustration and hurt sprung and lined her lids, and with what force she could muster, Bella pushed at the hard planes of his chest, shoving him away, incapable of suffering his nearness.

Immediately, Edward relented, loosing his hold around her, floored by the strength and vehemence of her reaction. He watched, warily, as she paced the floor in front of him, fists balled and shoulders taut. She was livid, that much was clear, but he didn't understand at all, and for what felt like the thousandth time, he cursed Fate for her mental silence.

After a half dozen passes, Bella stopped on her heel and spun to face him. Her brow climbed and her eyes flashed as she asked, "So, you deny me, too?" If so, she was unsure of what she'd do, if there were any recourse.

A throbbing ache bloomed inside of his chest, and Edward's jaw rolled and his fingers dug into the tops of his thighs to curtail the pain. More coldly than he meant, he returned, "You _can't_ understand, Isabella. Don't you remember your own tears at my murder? Don't you recall begging for the life of your own attacker? You don't want this. This isn't life."

"You certainly didn't think that before," she snapped. Her voice quivered and her lip shook, and Edward knew that he'd hurt her, despite his intent. Bella couldn't possibly comprehend, he repeated, convincing himself of his path.

"That's of no consequence. I was wro-"

A single hot tear escaped, streaked down her cheek and dotted her shirt, the sight cutting him off faster than her words. "No consequence? Whatever happened to Carlisle playing God? Are you so different now? Maybe this isn't up to you!" Her voice, though loud, was marred, thick with salt and unshed tears.

Edward reached up and gently traced his forefinger down her cheek, following the wet, shining line left behind. Softly, he answered, "Once you are changed, all you will want is blood. You will yearn for it. You will kill for it. You've seen the torment I endure simply being in the same room with you. Quenching your thirst will become the most important thing in your existence.

"You asked me once if I felt guilt. Yes. Yes, I do. I've killed hundreds – _thousands_ – of people, Bella. We all have."

It was the first time that he'd used her shortened name, a strange observation, but one that made her heart beat like a hammer.

"You will never change. You will never grow old or have children, and your family will be lost. You will live in shadows for all eternity.

"And just because you are changed does not mean that the Volturi will leave you be. They may chase you down for spite alone. This is not an answer to our danger. This is not something you should do because you are fearful. _You_ shouldn't do it at all. You are… too good for this." Through her own eyes, he watched himself stalk the prostitute in the alley, hearing her thoughts and dreams flutter and wane when she realized her death was near. The sound of Bella's heartbeat was like a drum, pounding into his skull, and he felt the sickness of remorse. "For me to allow this is… _No_."

His eyes were liquid and open, revealing more than she'd seen. He looked almost… _vulnerable_. She shivered at the hollowness of his words, her anger cooled by his anguish. She reached up and grabbed his hand, pushing her fingers through his as she pleaded in earnest, "I know about being a newborn, Edward. Don't you think that I would have thought that through? I've been thinking about this for _seven_ years, even before they left me. This isn't just some reactionary decision. I know about the bloodlust. And no, I don't have to murder. There _is_ an alternative."

"Impossible," he murmured, reeling from the contentment just her simple touch elicited. Inside, a war waged, two rights – what he knew and what he felt. Regardless, there would be loss.

Bella squeezed her fingers, willing him to understand. "No. Carlisle. And Rosalie. Don't tell me it can't be done. I can try, at least. Even if I fail, I'll still try.

"I understand what I'm asking. At least take me to Carlisle. I'm not asking you to do it yourself."

Edward shook his head, disbelieving.

"And what about you?" Bella asked, abruptly shifting direction. "What happens to you?"

Her question made little sense and he was unsure where she was going. "I told you, I'll hide you and then I'll deal with Demetri and the others."

"No, that's not what I meant. If I'm not changed, I will die one day. What happens to a vampire when his mate dies?"

The room went utterly still, all motion stopping as if frozen in place and time. She could hear the blood rushing inside of her ears and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. The air seemed to crackle and a fire raced beneath her flesh.

"What did you say?" he choked, his mouth agape and his eyes now black, wide, and fearful.

Bella swallowed and her heart seemed to fly, smacking into her sternum. She was surprised that it had taken her this long to piece it together, but the shock in his expression spoke to the rightness of her conclusion. Barely above a whisper, she answered, "I'm not stupid, Edward, nor am I naïve. I know about that, too. I've seen enough from watching _my_ vampires. I've seen the connection. I've _felt _it – or at least a shadow of it – in Jasper's projections. You can't explain this," motioning between them, "any other way…

"Answer me. What happens to a vampire when he loses his mate?"

The room seemed to warp and bend, as if reality itself were twisting at its seam. Struck by Bella's sudden declaration, but more so by the rush of emotion that word caused, he could but stare at her and watch her lips move. When she pressed a third time, some sense of awareness struck and Edward's first thought was of Marcus.

_Despair. Perpetual agony. Meaningless years and millennia of grief. _

There were others like Marcus, though they were few. He'd met them through the decades, some having come to Volterra to request their own death to escape the loss. Like Marcus, their existences were dark and hollow, blighted by the wounds that could never heal.

Bella watched as his eyes glazed and turned vacant. His lips parted and his tongue wetted them as if parched. Slowly, silently, Edward mouthed but two words. "They exist."

She pushed for more even as she dreaded to hear. "How? Describe it." Once, years ago, Emmett had been the one to explain this to her. Sitting on an old fallen oak, he'd admitted his weakness, explaining how intricately twined his life was with Rose's. Vampire mates were but two halves to a whole, permanently altered and fused for all time. The death of one was the death of both.

He turned his gaze to her, seeing the raven hair and flowing robes that now existed only in his Master's mind. "By living in the past."

Bella swallowed again. "When I die, do you want that?"

His fist speared the cushion beneath him as sharp daggers of pain lanced through his chest, drawing the very breath from his lungs. It was so intense, so excruciating, that he could barely speak. Raven hair turned to sable and he saw Bella still and cold, pale on her deathbed. There was no sound but for the cries of his misery and mourning. He could see himself there beside her, doubled over, falling to his knees and praying for ash and for oblivion. The pendulum swung, cutting through his internal war. "No," he breathed, and then repeated it again, shaking his head in defeat.

His answer sounded more like a cry for mercy than an admission. Bella tugged on his limp, lifeless hand, pulling him up. Softly, she asked, running her hand though his hair, "Am I right? Am I… your mate?"

Obeying her unspoken request, Edward stood. Mere inches separated them, but peculiarly, at least in this brief instance, the scorching fire in his throat didn't flare, and the swamp of venom remained dry. Cupping her face between his palms, he leaned down, skimming his nose along her cheek. "Yes, Isabella. Yes, you are."

Warmth flooded, bubbling and heating her skin all over. Bella turned into his touch, brushing her lips against his wintry skin, daring to press them to his lips, uncaring of the risk. "Then let me make my own decision. Let _me _choose. _Please?"_

"What do you choose?" Edward murmured, basking in heat and the soft silken skin of her lips.

"You."

**~.~.~**

The sky was pitch black when he closed the door, but the city still moved and lights still glowed, even in the relative quiet of their new location. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, ignoring the rancid odor of sitting garbage and car exhaust, Edward glanced to the south to the row of Portland brownstones across from the university. It was difficult to recall that so few weeks ago, he'd stood on this very spot, only with very different intentions and motivations. Then he'd been a hunter, a guard – a _captive_ – bent on completing the tasks of his masters. Now, he was cut loose from their bindings and tied, mind, body, and soul, to another. Yet ironically, he still hunted.

_Mate. _

Even out on the street, stories below, he could still hear her heart, thumping slowly and steadily in sleep. Its rhythm called to him, ringing through his bones, resonating through his entire being and filling him with a tingling sense of awe. The breeze shifted, lifting her perfume from his shirt, and he inhaled, welcoming the familiar fire and the reminder. Now that the word had been spoken aloud and admitted, she was everywhere. Her scent, her touch, her face – _she_ – was etched into his memory, a watermark on his every thought and action.

This _was_ her choice, not his, and he could no longer argue that she hadn't the knowledge or the perspective. Unlike most, Bella had lived in their world and she knew their secrets and their horrors. Despite better reasoning and logic, and despite all that he'd believed and called fact, she _had_ understood all along. Never mind his reservations and the sickness that still pervaded his thoughts when he imagined her crimson-eyed and wild, he would not deny her or himself. _She chooses this life… She chooses me_, he repeated, driving the words into truth and resolve.

He sighed at the heavens, cursing them and thanking them all at once. Somehow, by some wretched twist of fate, Bella felt that same pull deep inside, the unexplainable ancient ache that could only be stemmed by proximity and surrender. It should have been impossible that such a connection could be forged between predator and prey, yet he could never refute it. She was his perfect drink but more importantly, more profoundly, she was his eternal match, an answer to a century of walking alone amidst his own kind. For a moment, Edward allowed himself to dwell there, to exist in that single instant of hope and to heave all else away.

Lost in reverie, Edward barely noticed the blur of cement and pavement and honking cabs as he sped north as far away from her as he dared. His time was short, and with each step away, bubbles of anxiety surfaced, festering and pushing his limbs faster.

He would do as she asked. He would risk traveling to visit her Cullens once more, this time to request their aid. But first, he _had_ to feed again. While in their hotel room, he had been granted momentary reprieve from the fire of her scent, but being locked in a car for hours on end, Edward knew would be too much. Jeopardizing her in that way could not be tolerated now, as much as it pained him to leave her even for these brief moments.

Minutes passed and the landscape changed. Following the river's winding path, the terrain expanded and contracted, as hills and rocky knolls replaced flat sand. It was darker here, and the blacked-out, looming shadows of old row homes and a smattering of dying mansions lined the streets. A sign overhead told him he was far north and still close to the Hudson. Beneath a flickering streetlamp, a steel service gate hung open, and he darted across the street and ducked inside. Places like these were prime hunting ground in the night. Like vampires, the wicked always sought out the dark.

To his left, there was a long trail that chased through the trees, leading deeper into the isolated park. Lit by only moonlight, he could see footprints in the dust, some fresh. And when he listened, he heard them.

_Come on man, it's cold out here tonight. Gimme a swig, _an old man lamented, huddling on a rickety bench. Beyond his age, his bones were creaky and weak, worn by years and by a decade of life without a home.

_Damn, it's dark. What the hell was J thinking coming all the way out here? Who knows what kind of thugs hang in these trees, _a pale, school-aged teen worried, still in dressed in his khakis and plaid. His friends were high and laughing too loudly, and Edward could smell the cloy of marijuana and burning narcotics floating in the air.

In the distance, however, Edward heard his mark. Vivid scenes of an elderly man with wispy cotton hair dying in the street, his gut bleeding out from jagged knife wounds, sprang to life. With blood-soaked hands, the man roughly rifled his victim, rejoicing over nothing more than a handful of bills. He was already plotting his next attack, filled with excitement over future violence.

In an abrupt ninety-degree spin, like the ball from a cannon, Edward shot through the trees, silently and lithely cutting between thorny brush and piles of rock. His soles barely touched the damp forest floor and the wind whistled past his ears. With each stride, the man's mental voice grew louder, and in less than a minute, he found the small clearing. The murderer was there, his back turned and hunched over a crackling open flame, smoking cheap cigarettes. Beside him on the ground lay his knife, bloodied and gleaming from his assault.

Edward could taste the sweetness of human blood in the air. Even stale and spent, the still-wet evidence of murder made him salivate. The man himself smelled wrong, rank with drugs and alcohol, but he would do. Not even Bella could dispute this man's wickedness, he argued. This man was a killer and he _would_ kill again. Taking him from society was an act of compassion.

Already crouched and prepared to attack, he stepped onto the wet grass. Preoccupied with his scheming, the man heard nothing. Edward stepped again, bringing him but feet from his prey, and then, as if he'd crossed some invisible line, there was a sudden pounding in his ears, and stinging twinges of remorse for acts not yet fulfilled tugged uncomfortably. It was a weight that sagged his shoulders, twisting his features beneath its heft. In abrupt realization, inexplicably, with her unwritten mark on his soul, her conscience became his, and he could hear the raw grief in her tears as plainly as if Bella were standing there beside him.

_No one else. Please… _

_Just… not __you__. Not when there is a choice…_

Edward stopped and straightened, frustrated and unsure of his course of action. He had to feed, and this man was a more than worthy meal, but the thought of her scorn and guilt on his behalf tore at him, leaving him still and flummoxed. It was infuriating on so many levels and he knew not what to do.

His dark eyes narrowed and his teeth grinded in vexation. Raging thirst clawed at his throat, ripping up and down his esophagus, burning his nostrils and his tongue. Yet for all his bloodlust, he knew he could not drink this man, for then he would be exactly as she'd accused so many days before. And she would know it as surely as if she saw his brutality herself.

With a deafening growl, startling the man in the clearing but not bothering to note his reaction, Edward raced back into the trees in a blinding blur of vampire speed and grace. Rebounding off fallen logs and high boulders, he sprang through the air, retreating from the too-easy temptation of his blood and life. Where the wind whistled before, it screeched now, and the force of his footfalls shattered rock.

Nearing the uppermost edge of the island, where he could see the tree line beginning to break to give way to water, he finally slowed, eyeing the sky as if asking for counsel. With one final leap, he flew to a high, thick branch. In some odd sense of relief, his lungs expelled their contents, surprising him in that he'd involuntarily stopped his breathing in his flight. It was an unnecessary action, one held over from his few days as human, but Edward closed his eyes and pushed his fingers through his hair, contemplating his behavior.

It was so quiet here, distant enough from the city dwellers and those who hid in the southern section of the park. When he listened, their voices were but soft murmurs, drowned out by the lapping of waves nearby and the snaps of twigs and leaves from the forest animals. For a long minute, he stood there, high on his perch, leaning against the rough bark of the tree trunk.

_Thump-thump. _

_Thump-thump._

It was faster than a human's heart. Scanning the horizon, Edward saw a tuft of white and a web of bony antlers. Hesitantly, he sniffed the air and balked at the pungency. How _they_ stomached _that_, he could not understand, even as he admitted that it _could_ suffice. The scent was wild and gamey, so unlike the sweet liqueur of humans. It had a raw smell to it, but when he closed his eyes again and just listened, focusing on the wet smacking of arterial valves opening and closing, he found that his throat begged him for it. The moment the animal drifted beneath his tree, he jumped.

**~.~.~**

"Where has he gone now?" Felix raged. Propped against a crumbling brick wall in a dank alleyway, he cut a menacing figure. In a poor attempt to contain his irritation, his nails dug into mortar. His orders had finally been issued and he was here to collect, yet his _target_ was nowhere to be found.

Demetri's brow creased, annoyed by both Felix's over-eager demeanor and Edward's unexpected departure. Coolly, he replied, "North of here. I don't understand it. His scent is all over this area, but he just left. He's no more than ten miles away and he's not moving any further."

Felix's head cocked to the side in consideration. Inhaling, he sucked in the night air, tasting. "She's not with him." He knew the girl's scent; it'd been all over the apartment – more evidence of his betrayal. Regardless, wherever Edward had gone, she was still here. If he knew his former fellow guardsman and his weakness, he would not leave his _pet_ for long.

"Felix, our orders are clear," Demetri warned, even as he watched his companion push off the wall, turning toward the early century hotel across the street.

"Yes, _Demetrios_, we're to bring Edward back to Italy. And we will," he chuckled. There was a dangerous glint in his eye. "_Eventually_. Caius simply said to dispose of the girl. Nothing more. He didn't say that we couldn't play first."

**~.~.~**

Bella woke with a start, her eyes immediately searching the dark room for the whisper she'd sworn was real. It was low and hissing, and it made her stomach clench and jerk. Still weary from sleep, her eyes were slow to adjust, taking in little more than outlines cast in the pale green glow of the bedside alarm clock. Automatically, she reached over to the left side of the bed, feeling nothing but the empty sag where he'd lain beside her and gently combed his fingers through her hair until she had drifted off to sleep.

"Edward?" she whispered, suddenly panicked and scrabbling for the lamp switch.

With a click, light flooded the room and her eyes darted to a small piece of hotel parchment, folded neatly in half and placed on the nightstand where it would have been impossible for her to miss. Gingerly, she opened the paper, reading and then re-reading the perfect cursive script.

_Isabella,_

_If you are reading this, then forgive me. Please do not worry yourself over my absence. I have to take care of a few matters before we depart in the morning. I shall return to you before you can think to miss me. _

_Yours, _

_Edward_

Her breathing slowed as she read his words one last time, and she tried her damnedest not to imagine what these _matters_ were and to focus more on the _yours_. But she'd seen his irises before she had fallen asleep. They had been as black as night, and Bella was under no illusions as to what that meant. Her efforts were to no avail, however, and her face burned and stung as she imagined him killing yet another and taking on one more soul in his register of guilt.

Swallowing, Bella placed the note back on the nightstand, wondering how sleep would ever come again this night. Just as she reached for the light switch, hoping that darkness would hide her tears, she glanced up and to the door.

Time halted.

Her heart slammed into her chest and all her air squeezed from her lungs, wheezing in the silence of the room.

"Oh, look, Demetri," one of them purred, eyeing her with undisguised hunger. "Edward left her a love note. How very… _human_ of him."

Before she could scream, there was a blur of white and dark, and then finally, blood red eyes, full of malice and sadistic delight, stared into hers, no more than an inch from her face.

Numbly, she blinked.

And then the world went black.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

The row of Portland brownstones at the beginning of the second segment in the chapter references chapter 5, in which Edward initially searched for Bella. One of the _I. Swan_s he visited was an elderly woman named _Imogene Swan_, who lived near Columbia. You can read from this that the hotel he'd moved Bella to after her attack in that alley (chap. 13) was just north of the university.

Also in the second segment, Edward is traveling north from the area around Columbia (aka Morningside Heights) through the Upper West side, through Harlem, and then onto Inwood Hill Park (north end of Manhattan Island). As you move north on the Island, especially on the west side, you can see some hills and trees and terrain you might not think of when you envision Manhattan. Riverside Drive still sports some rather old architecture, including a handful of standalone pre-war mansions, though most have long since been torn down in favor of newer high rises.


	17. A Time to Kill

**A Time to Kill**

* * *

Like a black, floating wraith, the sleek two-door roadster screamed down the highway.

Behind a mountain of charcoal clouds, the moon hid, giving only enough light to outline the dark, bulky shadows of the passing countryside. Trailing the edge of a rapidly moving front, it was cold and wet outside, and the pavement was coated in a fine, slick sheen of oil. In the violet glow of xenon headlights, swirling green and pink rainbows writhed across the blacktop.

At such a late hour, few vehicles traveled this stretch of interstate. Those that did gave wide berth to the fast-approaching machine. In unconscious, instinctive reaction to the unexpected glare of lights in the mirror and to their startling speed, other travelers swerved to the right, abruptly shifting lanes and slowing to allow their passage. Caged in their compact four-doors and sport utility vehicles, cautious humans were left disquieted and wondering at who would dare to drive so irresponsibly in such poor conditions.

Far ahead, well beyond the range of human sight, spanned across the road on high steel posters, a bright green sign read: _I-80 to Newark / New York. _

Inside the cabin, muffled by stiff leather, it was absolutely silent but for the angry growl of the engine and the whistle of wind outside of the windows. As still as they were quiet, for miles on end, two vampires scanned the road ahead, one watching the present and one watching the future.

There was a perpetual weight to the air. It felt substantial and alive, like two warm hands gently pressing down on her shoulders, pushing her into the hugging cushion beneath her. It was an uninterrupted thick mantle that covered and comforted, lessening some of the near-constant agony. Exhausted, Alice no longer pushed back, accepting his need to shield her emotions for both her and his own sanity.

A hundred miles ago when she'd watched Bella's blood spill, crimson and steaming as it splattered across pale walls, Alice's terror spiked to unfathomable levels, punching through and obliterating their shared emotional space. Helpless and still too far away to intervene in time, for what felt like an age, she was lost in an unbending future, catatonic and incapable of returning to reality. The only thing that had brought her back to the present was Jasper's whimpering cries breaking through the haze and then the feel of her stone hand beginning to give inside his tightly curled fist. Determined to take her fear and suffering, despite her protests, he sucked it all away from her and pushed out an impenetrable fog of numb. In doing so, he'd nearly crippled himself with his own gift.

When the car sped past yet another sign, in subtle forewarning, Alice abruptly felt her invisible blanket shift and wrap more tightly around her. "Any change?" Jasper asked carefully, finally breaking the silence. While his voice was now low and soothing, softened by the remnants of a coastal lilt, Alice could hear the lingering strain buried in the dulcet tones.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Jasper darted around a crawling tractor and trailer. In his periphery, he catalogued her expression – the sharp, unrelenting crease in the white span of her forehead, the bite of her teeth clamped to the inside of her cheek, the flat, dead eyes, jet black from too many days of refusing to feed.

"I can't tell. There's too many involved," she rasped. "I can't see if what we're doing will make any difference. The big guard – _Felix_ – knows what he wants to do. The other one – he wavers like he's waiting for something."

"What about Edward – the one you said was her…"

"He's too late and then he's not… If he smells her blood…" Alice shook her head, continuing hoarsely, "Sometimes he just goes crazy and kills them all. Other times…" She cringed into the seat, unable to continue.

"Why did he leave to begin with?" Jasper roared. Rage rattled and shook his hold on calmness. "I thought…"

"I don't know!" she wailed, digging her fingers into the cushion to still them. "I just saw that he did and then I saw him in a forest somewhere. He's coming back, that's certain. When he does… God, I can't see it!"

For a long moment, neither said anything more. Grasping for control, he breathed in, slowly inhaling and exhaling. The scent of pine seeped through the vents and mingled with the cloying sweetness of vampire.

"We should have told the others," he muttered, gripping the wheel too tightly.

Alice turned to face him, staring at the hard brace of his jaw. Without inflection, she answered with the same line she'd used when they'd left Minnesota hours before. "We couldn't. We can run from their tracker. He doesn't know us and I can watch for him. Carlisle can't. And he… I don't know if he could fight. It's just not his way."

"I know. It doesn't matter. We still should have told them."

Through the window, Alice watched blacked out trees blur together into a high dark wall that went on as far as she could see. There had been too many weeks of this – of begging and waiting and hoping against all hope. The near constant barrage of violence had rendered her despondent, even as she sought out an end. Resigned despair invaded and crept through her limbs.

"Jasper?" she breathed.

Shifting slightly, he saw the lines in her forehead strangely relax. In their place were slackened lips and sluggish eyes, staring unseeing into the night. When he reached out to touch her hand, a dark shadow passed over her face, and then so softly that even he could barely hear, she murmured, "If Bella dies, I'm going to be there in time to kill them."

For a split second, his eyes left the road and involuntarily slid shut, hearing in her voice not their enemies' deaths, but her own. He should have been surprised by her declaration, but after weeks of watching her slowly break, he wasn't. "Alice, no. You…" he fumbled incoherently.

"I know what it will mean if I do," she interrupted, determination building her volume. "The others will come after me and probably you. That's why the rest of the family couldn't come with us. They'd be hunted down, too, and I can't bear that. But I _have_ to." Her hands wrung and her breathing stuttered. "Please understand. If she dies, it's the only thing I can do. I owe her at least that much."

Jasper swallowed and slowly nodded, saying no more, struck by the biting stab of anguish in his chest. There was concrete resolve in her words, and if he had learned anything over their last decades, he knew the futility in fighting with his mate. He would be wherever she chose to be; it had been their way from the beginning and it was as sure as the rise of the sun in the east.

Even as he suffered in silence, in the back of his mind, vivid and gory scenes of ancient war and of supernatural battlefields replayed. He could see himself as he once was – before Alice – a brutal, bloodthirsty commander of vicious newborn armies on the high, dusty plateaus of the south. The map of shiny crescent-shaped scars that littered his flesh seemed to tingle and come to life as if in salute to his remembrance. Almost a century had passed since Jasper had destroyed another of their kind, but better than any, he knew the crunch of bone and the shriek of rending vampire flesh. None had been more lethal than he.

The low burn of planned and calculated fury ignited, relit coals in a fire from which he had walked away long ago. If it came down to that – to a fight – and if there were no other solution, he would make sure that Alice had her vengeance. Only it would be multiplied and compounded for the pain they had unleashed on her.

**~.~.~**

Two blocks from the hotel, like a steel wrecking ball exploding through brick, it hit him.

In the wake of a passing yellow cab, the scent of freshly spilled blood washed over him. Eclipsing all else, it was so strong, so visceral and demanding, that it nearly took him to his knees. Stunned and shocked into absolute stillness, his body locked in place, and bitter venom poured into his mouth.

Edward had never experienced anything like it. Despite having just fed, the hours upon hours he'd bathed himself in her presence, and more significantly, despite their bold declarations, the scent of Bella's raw and exposed blood was unimaginable in its essence, so pure, so unpolluted. His fingers curled into tight claw-like fists, and hard, rolling shudders sped up and down his spine. His throat turned into a violent, acid-filled inferno, and it took everything in him to not murder the dozen or so innocents meandering on the sidewalks nearby in order the quench the raging fire.

After but one breath, no matter his mind's blaring protests, every cell in his body was drunk, feverish and high on the unbridled sweetness and perfection. Lost in incoherency and delirium, he ached, longing to taste it, to plunder, and to devour it.

A second breath of perfumed air, however, brought all of his bloodlust and violence to a shattering halt. Lighter, barely discernable in the presence of _her_, two other scents lingered, ones he recognized immediately. And realization dawned.

_They_ were here.

They – his kind – had been _here_, and Bella's blood had been shed, so much so that he could smell it a half of a mile away amidst one of the most densely populated places on the planet. His mind raced through possibilities, but deep down, he _knew_ that there was but one explanation. Isabella – his _mate_ and match for all time – could only be dead, destroyed and drained, as he'd been sent to do himself. They would not have allowed her to live. They would not have stopped once her blood spilled.

_Dead. _

_Still, cold, and lifeless. _Her image, pale and sleeping, floated across his awareness. The earth began to shake beneath his feet, and colors and lights inverted and bled together into a surreal, Dali-esque nightmare.

They had killed her.

And no matter his intentions, _he_ had left her there, defenseless, fragile, and alone.

_He_ had killed her.

"My fault," he panted, repeating it again and again, as his fingers tore through his hair.

His entire being crumbled and only distantly did he hear the crack of splitting cement when his knees hit the sidewalk. Listlessly, as if in a daze, Edward stared upward into the blackened heavens, searching but seeing only her face drawn in the stars. Automatically, without thought, his mouth moved, mutely slipping into the ancient words and rote prayers of a long-dead immigrant priest – the same prayers that he'd learned as a human child and then somehow carried across the hell of vampire transformation.

_Kyrie, eleison… Christe, eleison…__Sed libera nos a malo. __Salvum fac servum tuum. Salvum… Salvum… Domine, exaudi orationem meam. Et clamor meus ad te veniat._

Something inside of him fractured and splintered. He clawed at his chest as agony like he'd never experienced ballooned, swelling against his ribcage and choking his throat and lungs. It flayed his skin from the inside, digging in and pouring salt upon the wounds. He reeled from it, swaying and nearly toppling from its onslaught. Never ceasing, the torture only intensified with each passing second, pushing everything else away.

It was as though the air had frozen solid around him. There was no sound except for that of his own cries. There were no smells of rotting garbage or of exhaust or even of her precious perfume. People, the buildings, the neon signs and blaring cars – they all vanished. There was nothing but him and unending pain.

Marcus's thoughts had been a poor approximation of _this_, feather taps compared to an anvil's weight. Edward buried his face in his hands, pleading to be wrong, pleading for the pain to end so that he could stand again. His Master's eyes told him that it never would, however; when Bella had claimed him for her own, she had altered him eternally and irretrievably. Each moment he breathed beyond her, he would be damned in the scorching fires of Hades.

He was dead, but now, as night fell all around him, swallowing him in its darkness, he was dying.

**~.~.~  
**

For an eternity, Bella drifted in and out of consciousness, surfacing but for seconds at a time. Loud and unnamed sounds tickled the edge of her awareness, but true lucidity evaded her, dangling just beyond her grasp, and her eyes refused to obey and open.

Each time she sank into dream, stark against black sky, crimson eyes floated toward her, menacing and dark in their intent. Ice touched her skin, cold and hard, wrapping itself around her and suffocating her. There was no air to breathe, just the seizing of her chest and lungs. Her body locked and ached, begging but powerless to escape.

A name to call out teased the tip of her tongue, and there were brief flickers of a wrathful angel's face, pale as marble and crowned by glowing shades of autumn. She cried, but her voice was nothing more than a desperate, garbled whisper, drowned out by the thunder of blood rushing between her ears. Over and over, until she was hoarse and heaving, Bella silently screamed for her savior-angel to come and to rescue her from the demon eyes. He never came, however, and the red eyes pervaded, leaving her alone and shivering, a prisoner to her mind.

Hours, days, or maybe years later – she wasn't sure – those fleeting seconds of cognizance lengthened until eventually, the horror-filled dreams faded, giving way to new terror.

She woke to pain and to the sickening smell of copper and salt.

When Bella finally opened her eyes, the room was black. Like the darkness of her dreams, there was nothing to be seen – no windows, no backlit alarm clocks, no hint of light from beneath a door – nothing but inky midnight. Overhead, stale air blew down and swept across her skin. Dimly, she processed the cool and sticky tack of damp cotton against her skin. Somewhere in the distance, muted by walls and space, there were two voices – angry, arguing ones – but individual words were impossible to discern with her weak ears.

Vaguely, she pieced together that she was no longer in their hotel room. Instead of soft covers and silky sheets, there was the chill and the hardness of tile beneath her back. Her limbs were heavy, and when she tried to rise, knife-like pain sliced up and down her right arm. As she shifted, Bella felt fresh streaks of wetness slide down her skin to pool on the floor.

Nauseated from the smell of fresh blood and still delirious, a deep-rooted dread settled into her bones. From Edward's descriptions, Bella knew enough to know that she hadn't been bitten. Why she was still alive, however, was a question to which she had no real answer.

"_Edward_," she whispered, as fat tears streaked down her face.

Exhausted and unable to lift her own weight, her body sank to the tile once more, curling into a defensive ball. Swallowing the rise of bile, she clamped her hand around her arm, hoping to stem the bleeding before she blacked out again. The blood felt slimy and viscous against her palm and it was still warm. Slowly, she breathed through her mouth, closing her eyes and counting her heartbeats in an effort to maintain some sense of rational thought. She replayed her memories, hearing the still-yelling voices in the background.

Less than a minute later, her teeth chattered and her skin crawled with abrupt revelation. A scream built in her chest, but she bit her tongue to hold it in. Bella could see only one reason her heart still pounded in her chest. It stole her air and launched her panic into the stratosphere – _she_ was no longer the target. _He_ was.

She was _bait_.

**~.~.~**

Some time later, he found himself running. Unconsciously latching onto her scent, Edward's body rose of its own volition, and his feet pounded into the pavement. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care; he only followed, drowning inside of himself, barely registering the blurry images of the passing mountains of concrete.

She was dead. He could feel it in every breath he took. Despair draped and covered him in its heavy blanket, yet he still moved forward, having no choice but to pursue.

Time turned into a meaningless entity, speeding and slowing with incomprehensible reasoning. While he ran for only minutes, it was at once seconds and a century. Unlike the night when she'd run from him, this was no frantic race against the clock. This was mindless, heedless of all else. It was as if he were possessed, his body driven by someone else – a demon, a god… a _ghost._ For as he flew across the asphalt, vaulting over cars and bounding past startled human eyes in an indistinct black and white streak, Edward _saw_ Bella_._

Ethereal, translucent figments of her were around every turn. Desperate and at the precipice of madness with grief and guilt, he chased her through the city, blindly reaching out with his hands, clasping nothing but air. He called to her, begging her to return, to wait for him. With each footfall, her image grew stronger, solidifying and luring him. In betrayal or perhaps in compassion, his mind conjured her heartbeat once more, tapping in time to the stride of his race. Shaking what little remained of his hold on reality, it thundered and slapped in his ears, growing louder with each rhythmic pulse.

As he drew closer, nearing to whatever target _she_ led, the sublime perfume in his nostrils flared to life, masking the oversweet essence of _them_.

But her blood no longer wetted his mouth. The fire in his throat had died completely, surrendering to the fire that consumed his spirit. Instead, her blood pulled him forward and filled him with white-hot, inconsolable wrath. It twined and braided into his mourning, spreading throughout every part of him and sending his mind and soul into a blasted wasteland.

She was dead. And he would destroy them, obliterate them. If nothing else, for their offense, he would see them on their knees, begging for mercy that would never be granted.

_If I die, so be it_, Edward thought, accepting – _welcoming_. He knew if not now, shortly hereafter, once his vengeance was spent, he would seek oblivion anyway. He would be no Marcus.

_Felix is a fool. This is _not_ what Caius commanded, _a voice suddenly whispered. It was no more than a mile away, just across a high steel bridge.

In rare circumstance, Demetri's mind was conflicted, uncomfortable and unsettled by Edward's fast approach. His mental voice was tentative; it was if he were reaching out, testing and hoping that Edward could hear. A dark, knowing smile answered. Of course, there would be no surprise on either side of this war; they would be waiting for him and he now knew precisely where they were.

_It's about time_, Felix delighted. A tingling anticipation riddled his thoughts, a deep need to inflict pain and suffering, and through Demetri's eyes, Edward saw unveiled thrill in Felix's countenance. There was no joy in Demetri's flat, unwavering stare; his spoke only of grim resolve. He was a soldier who had his orders.

_Edward – brother – be reasonable. We were sent only to bring you home. This does not have to end in violence,_ he cautioned softly. But his words were meaningless, lost in the swelling storm. The beats of a dead heart were all he really heard, and they drove him toward them faster still.

Before him were rows of vast warehouses, tall and gray, spotted and streaked with age and rusted stains. Residual rainwater from a roof drain clanged in metal gutters, emptying into dank alleys, and the wail of a distant police siren broke the stillness. The streetlamps here were few and dim, casting faint circles of light over cracked and broken asphalt. It made no matter, however; standing in the empty street, one block south, Edward saw his marks.

"_Edward_," Felix purred. Beneath a thin web of fine wool, his massive shoulders rolled, and the tendons in his arms rippled, flexing side to side. His stance was aggressive, low and with one foot forward, readying himself to leap. His mind spilled no secrets, intent and focused solely on the pale creature before him. He wanted him to strike, to give him reason to attack.

"Felix," Demetri hissed, yet like his fellow guard, his hackles were raised, ready to defend.

Through their eyes, Edward saw himself. A mirror to his soul, his face was a mask of uncontrolled rage, a dark, avenging demon. Pure black and shadowed by ashen bruises, his eyes stared into theirs, threatening and promising. Taut and ready to spring, he crouched and his fingers curled into anxious claws.

Demetri's brows creased sharply, hardly recognizing the once cool and restrained vampire before him. _T__ell me that she is silent to you, too, _he rushed._ That that is why you spared her. Tell me that you were testing her for latent abilities. Aro could understand that. He will grant you pardon if it is your only crime. _

_Give Felix no reason to fight. He will obey if I demand it. Come back with us. _

Something in Demetri's silent plea struck Edward, something _off_ and unexpected, but he couldn't see past the sheer, blinding demand for retribution to pinpoint what precisely was wrong.

"You disgust me," Felix growled, his deep bass rolling across the empty street. "You betray your kind and your masters for what? A toy?"

Edward's teeth snapped, but he made no move forward, refusing to answer and take his bait.

"Don't deny it, _brother_," Felix spat, turning the endearment into an epithet. "When I took her, I could smell you all over her."

Edward's eyes closed, recoiling against remembrance of her touch, of that moment of ecstasy when his mouth had been on hers. The drumbeats struck in a slow and steady cadence. For a moment, he smiled, imagining the rhythm to be real, feeling her silken skin beneath his fingers, his ice thawing to her heat.

"How- _why_ you resisted her is beyond me. Her blood is so mouthwatering. Or do you no longer feed, as well?" Felix went on, his teeth gleaming with slick venom. "It wasn't easy, bringing her here." A terrified scream repeated in Felix's mind, and then a single image of Bella's still and lifeless form, painted by rivulets of scarlet, flickered, waving and rippling.

"No," Edward hissed, as anguish pierced him through and through. Propelled by it, slowly, he stalked toward the two waiting guards. Felix dropped into a matching crouch.

"Edward, don't," Demetri warned a second time. He did not relish this fight; even with two against one, there was considerable risk. Compared to them, Edward was young and less trained. His speed and more so, his ability to read their moves, however, made him deadly in any fight. But now, enraged and uncaring as to his own existence, Edward was absolutely lethal. Felix was blind not to see it.

_Yes, I am_, Edward thought. His lips turned up and he sucked in a last lungful of perfumed air. Molten fury froze into an unrelenting arctic hatred that coursed through him, removing all haze and all uncertainty. In perfect, sober clarity, he watched their every motion and fidget, listening for intent.

Answering, his voice was hard, flat, and cold in his ears, detached almost, as if he were no longer present inside his body. "Your words are nothing, Demetri. For what you have done, for what you have taken, I will tear you both apart. You will burn tonight."

With a primal roar, Edward shot across the remaining space between them. A split second passed and then thunder cracked when his body slammed into Felix's. The momentum knocked both of them to the ground, and the two vampires twisted and rolled down the street in a blur of grappling fists and kicking feet. Snarling even as they toppled, Edward's iron fingers found and latched onto Felix's throat, squeezing and biting into vampire flesh.

Felix bellowed in pain and he grabbed Edward's forearms, his strength overwhelming, crushing his bones. A booted foot met Edward's stomach, kicking and launching him high into the air and across the road. With a deafening crash, he smashed into the steel wall of a warehouse. At impact, metal shook and groaned, and high overhead windows shattered, sending down a rain of glass and debris.

In a single, lithe motion, Edward sprang back to his feet. In his periphery, in practiced motion, Demetri was circling, waiting for the larger vampire to make his move. Before he could attack, however, Edward flung himself at Felix once more, darting to the left at the last possible instant to avoid an outstretched fist. Surprised, Felix spun, wildly swinging his massive paws. A single left found its mark, and the force of the blow knocked Edward backward. As he stumbled to the ground, Felix caught him by the shoulders, lifting him up, his feet left dangling helplessly beneath him.

"You think you can take me?" he growled. In the height of violence, his masters' orders were forgotten. "For her? For a human? You never deserved your robes, _Edward_. You were nothing but his pet, precious and coddled only because of your _lineage_."

In a lightning fast move, Felix slammed Edward to the ground. Beneath him, Edward could feel the asphalt give, and gaping cracks spread out like a spider web. Sharp teeth tore at his flesh, the venom burning as it seeped into his wounds. The shrill metallic shrieks of rending vampire flesh echoed off the buildings, reverberating in horrific sounds of battle. He struggled against Felix's iron grip, writhing and gasping as large chunks of meaty flesh were ripped from his torso. In a desperate move, Edward rocked sideways, bringing his knees up with all his strength, searching for leverage against Felix's chest.

Felix howled when he felt the crunch of his sternum breaking, and momentarily, his hold weakened. He didn't even see Edward slip from beneath him. All of the sudden, there was a snap and a hard jerk, as his shoulder cleaved from its socket.

Bands of steel wrapped around Edward's arms and chest, crushing him, and then he was hurtling down the street. As he skidded across the ground, the pavement broke open and rolled up behind him until he finally landed in a tangled pile of wrecked limbs. His entire body was sluggish and weakened from the beating it'd already taken.

Shaking his head, Edward looked up. Felix had not moved and was doubled over, clutching at his empty appendage. At the same time, Demetri advanced, decisive and cunning.

Unlike his fellow guard, he planned his moves rather than relying on brute strength. It was a different style of fight, more subtle and in many ways more dangerous. Ignoring the ache in his shoulders and broken ribcage, Edward lifted himself to stand. His wounds were enough to stagger another vampire, but to him, it was nothing, a needle's prick compared to the knife wounds inside. Never ceasing, even amidst the chaos in the back of his mind, her heart beat a soothing rhythm.

In a deadly, graceful dance, they circled, both watching and waiting for the other to move, searching for advantage. When Demetri feinted left, Edward was there. When he shifted right, Edward was there again. Each time, his thoughts betrayed him, giving Edward that brief flash of notice.

"Why?" Demetri growled. _Why her? What is it about her? She's nothing more than food. Why destroy yourself over a human, Edward?_

"She was _mine,_" he returned, his voice low, hypnotic, and lethal.

Demetri's eyes widened in realization and his thoughts stuttered, disbelieving in a momentarily lapse.

Edward watched as the other vampire rocked forward, timing his sprint when he believed Edward to be distracted by his mental rambling. Patient, he stood stock still, waiting for the exact moment. When he felt the rush of air, he twisted sideways, and Demetri fell through nothing, losing his balance. Edward's elbow whipped around, catching him in the throat with a bone-breaking blow. His knees buckled, and Edward pummeled his foe, his fists flying in a flurry of blows that snapped and shattered the ribs beneath. Unrelenting, his razor-sharp nails sliced through Demetri's flesh, clawing and tearing, leaving wide, jagged gashes in their wake. The Volturi's screams ripped through air, blood-curdling in volume and pitch.

When he saw Felix straightening in the distance, he gripped Demetri by the neck. Not releasing him, Edward's body twisted, coiling tight and concentrating his strength. As if in slow motion, he spun on his heel, unfurling in a single powerful motion. His hips snapped around like a bullwhip, and he slung the other vampire, releasing him at the apex of his arc. Demetri soared through the air with startling speed, his trajectory sending him more than a football field away and crashing through a second story window.

Not waiting for his landing, Edward barreled back toward Felix, throwing himself at the bigger man the moment he was within arm's reach. Felix's back slammed against a cinderblock façade. Unfazed and wasting no time, he kicked off the wall. A heel planted into Edward's thigh with a sickening crunch, and then his single fist met Edward's jaw. Dazed, Edward backed away.

Twenty yards separated them. Again, Edward forced himself into stillness, waiting and knowing that his answer would come. After no more than a moment of consideration, Felix was charging across the space. Edward smiled darkly and raced forward to meet him. Just before collision, he hurled himself into the air, arching and twisting, flying over Felix's head. Mid-air, he reached down and latched onto Felix's remaining arm, tearing it away with a terrifying screech.

Felix shrieked and stumbled to his knees. Merciless, Edward assailed him, his fury present in every rip and tear of vampire flesh. Standing above him, Edward placed his palms on either side of Felix's skull, pressing his fingertips into his temples.

He wanted him to suffer more; he wanted to expel all of his rage in a night of reckoning. But no matter how many blows he struck, nothing waned or dissipated. Edward closed his eyes, inhaling and searching for calm. The street was utterly still. In far away apartments, human minds slumbered and dreamed, and somewhere, blocks away, he heard the distant roar of a high-end sports car speeding through the streets, out of place on this side of the city. But he paid none of it any mind.

Below him, Felix's thoughts were mush, a dizzying spin of centuries of memories. There was a flash of mahogany curls and liquid eyes, but it flitted away too fast. Edward's grip tightened and began to slowly twist. Between his hands, spinal bones creaked and shivered, so very close to splintering. Incoherent, Felix moaned in anguish, and dark red eyes stared unseeingly up at him, begging for clemency.

"Bella. Show me her face before you killed her. Let me see her content and smiling, before she knew you were there. Give me that image," he demanded, filled with malice. "And then I will end you."

**~.~.~**

Tearing metal screeched, deafening in the silence, and a door suddenly swung wide. Bright yellow light streamed in, flooding the room with a single, wide beam. Fine, gray-brown dust particles floated and swirled, caught in a vortex of sucking air. Through the haze, Bella saw the dark outline of a man, his lean form haloed by the doorway. Arms stretched wide, his palms pressed against the frame of the door as if to brace himself from falling. His shoulders were curled as if crippled or in pain, and his head hung low.

"Edward," she breathed, her voice choking with the flood of a relief so pure and so overwhelming that her eyes stung and wept.

A sharp, panting exhalation answered her, followed by a low, keening moan. It was the cry of a man being resurrected from the dead.

"Alive… you're _alive. _I heard it… it was… _real_…He didn't… Felix didn't ki-… _Alive,_" Edward stammered. His tongue refused to obey, unable to articulate at the living, breathing proof of Felix's final delirious confessionary image. Bliss so acute and so searing that it felt more like pain struck him, leaving him gulping and shaking.

"Wait," she warned, holding up a trembling bloodied hand. "Stop. Don't. I'm bleeding."

Before she could blink, Bella was caged in the steel embrace of his arms. A strangled, wordless sob rumbled in his chest, vibrating through hers. He buried his face in the warm crook of her neck, his nose nuzzling and sliding along her skin, inhaling deeply with each pass. "Bella… _Bella,"_ was all he said, his lips reverent and repeating against her. Gently, Edward pulled her into his lap, cradling her as if she were all he had in the world, as if he were scared to let go, thinking she would fly away.

"You're here," she murmured, winding and locking her fingers into his hair.

"Always," he sighed.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Minor background details:**  
- You can infer from the second segment of this chapter that in this AU, Edward was originally of Irish Catholic decent. It's not designated in canon by any means, but it fits in my head. First off, his physical appearance fits. Secondly, he was originally from Chicago (that's been mentioned in previous chapters), and in the early 1900's, there was a large immigrant population there, both Roman Catholics and Protestants.

- Also above, Edward spoke the prayers of his human childhood/adolescence in Latin, not English, despite him having been born American. Up until the 1960's, the Tridentine Mass was the most common Mass liturgy the world over and it was delivered exclusively in Latin, as were many other prayers and recitations. So during Edward's human time, that's what he'd have heard. By the way, this isn't the first time you've seen him show a bit of faith (Chapter 1). While religious themes are not central to this story, it's background for his character and his underlying beliefs color his behaviors.

**Translation [Latin]:  
**_Kyrie, eleison… Christe, eleison…__Sed libera nos a malo.__Salvum fac servum tuum. Salvum… Salvum… Domine, exaudi orationem meam! Et clamor meus ad te veniat._

_Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy… But deliver us from evil. Save your servant. Save him… Save him… O Lord, hear my prayer! And let my cry come to Thee._


	18. Escaped from Darkness

**Escaped from Darkness**

* * *

Plum-black smoke curled upward and into the night sky. Carried by the wind, the plume seemed to climb forever, darkening the stars behind it to gray and smothering the sliver of visible moon. At its base, charred, misshapen lumps smoldered and crackled inside of bone white flames with licking violet tips. The stench - thick, too sweet, and strangely familiar - coated everything, and every time she took a breath, it made her lungs burn.

Everywhere Bella looked, there were signs of a massive struggle. There was a long section of pavement that looked as though it had been ripped and peeled back from the roadbed. Gaping holes and jagged, canyon-like cracks decorated half of the buildings, and the sidewalks below them were covered in a layer of shattered glass and concrete rubble. She had never seen anything like this outside of news articles and movies; it was unimaginable. Nevertheless, instinctively, deep down, she _knew_ what had transpired. Even as he still lived and breathed and held her, the reality and evidence of such violence – more so, the undeniable potential for loss – was terrifying and surreal.

"Which one?" she whispered, staring over his shoulder, mesmerized by the sight of burning vampire amidst the chaos that had once been an empty New York City street.

A faint tremor followed her words, rippling down her spine and through his palms, and her legs involuntarily tensed around his waist. Her body's reflexive actions were so minute that Bella likely didn't even register them. Edward did, however, and his arms automatically flexed, clutching her tighter as if to physically drive her fear away.

Like a parent holding a frightened child, Edward carried her through the street, lithely stepping over the debris and wreckage. He moved carefully and far more slowly than he wished, but right now, she was fragile, both physically and emotionally. For his part, while his body was already close to knitted and whole once more, his mind was not, still reeling from believing her dead. He clung to her as desperately as she did to him. Bella's weight was nothing, as light as air, yet it grounded him and forced away the lingering despair. Touching her, feeling her warmth invade and spread through him, was proof that he no longer hallucinated, that she was very much real, and that God had heard his cries.

"It was Felix." His voice was so low and so rough that she barely could make out the syllables, even though his lips grazed her ear as he spoke.

When she closed her eyes, Bella could see the guard towering above her in the hotel room with his glowing red eyes and menacing smile. For a split second, his wide frame filled her vision, pushing away all else, and his voice purred in her memory, promising pain.

The makeshift bandage that wound around her bicep suddenly felt too tight as her veins throbbed to the timing of her heart rate. Lightheaded, as much from blood loss as from memory, she swallowed, focusing on the truth and surety of the gentle pressure of his hands and the cool breath that brushed across her skin.

"What happened to the other one?"

Edward stared past her at sights she could not see, his eyes glazed over, lifeless and opaque, as dark as a moonless midnight. _As dark as death_, she realized.

"Demetri escaped while I was… _occupied_ with Felix." Edward took a deep breath, feeling the slow expansion of his lungs. His chest cavity strained, aching beneath the strike of recalled grief. It was pure and all consuming, perfectly preserved in accursed vampire clarity. Refusing to dwell there, shaking his head, he raggedly continued, "When I saw images of _you_ in Felix's last moments, that there was a… possibility… that you were not de–… that you were _alive_… I had no choice but to find you and abandon Demetri."

The hair at the nape of his neck felt like delicate filaments of spun silk, soft and pliant. Trying to soothe both of their hurt away, her short-cut nails parted and raked through the strands, pressing gently into base of his scalp. A shuddering breath and then a soft hum, almost like a fluttering sigh, answered her. Not stopping, she leaned back so that she could see his expression. Hesitantly, uncertain that she wanted to know – uncertain that she wanted to hear him say it out loud – Bella asked, "They wanted you think that… that I was dead?"

The cool pad of his finger lightly touched her cheek, reverently running along the ridge of her cheekbone. When she exhaled and leaned into his touch, one finger turned to two and then to three as he roamed her face, tracing the faint bruising in the hollows of her eyes, the bow of her mouth, and then the column of her throat. He was memorizing her, or perhaps still convincing himself.

"I'm not entirely sure," Edward finally answered, the words tumbling out disjointed and strained. "It's… possible… that Felix simply thought to draw me out with your blood. I still don't understand it… can't fathom how they resisted you." Another shudder, this one more pronounced and harsh, rocked through him, fueled by some potent mixture of fury and desolation. "They didn't realize… He had no idea what I would do... I wanted to tear them apart and make them suffer how I suffered."

As quick as it surfaced, the fury waned, and there was nothing but vulnerability, an undisguised plea for understanding and comfort, in both his voice and in the deep creases that marred the smooth span of his forehead. It was a blanket of raw anguish that shadowed his features and locked his muscles into rigid stone, as if he were bracing himself for a blow. Bella recognized it immediately; she'd felt that same helplessness and emptiness when she'd been alone in that dark room, wondering and hoping that he would come find her and more than anything, that he wasn't already dead.

"It was… unbearable," he rasped, still drawing her features with his fingertips, stopping only to pause against the plump of her bottom lip.

"I know."

Edward watched her grimace and felt her fingers stop their motions only to lock around his neck, bringing their faces close enough that her forehead rested against his. Her breath rolled across the inches that separated them and her perfume flooded his nostrils. Even as the most succulent blood imaginable stained his shirt as well as his flesh, he inhaled again. And again, tasting life and reveling in the knowledge that somehow, the raging bloodlust was truly gone, banished by the heights of mourning and misery. In its place, there was a low burn of recognition in the base of his throat, an ember compared to the inferno, but he welcomed its heat. That he still burned was yet another tangible reminder that all had not been lost.

In the stillness, wailing sirens blared, gaining volume with each passing second, and whispers of confused thoughts began to speak in his mind. Blocks ahead, cherry red and electric blue strobes pulsed and flashed around the corner of an abandoned warehouse. His battle had not gone unnoticed, and there was but a moment remaining before the street would become inundated by startled and curious humans. What they would see or surmise, Edward could only guess. Regardless, they needed to depart, and quickly, too.

"Hold on to me tightly and close your eyes," he murmured, gently positioning her head in the crook of his neck.

As soon as her eyes shut, Edward darted perpendicular, flying through the darkness into a damp and deserted service alley. It reeked of mildew, cigarettes, and city rot, but the narrow passage led far and away from the arriving humans. Between the high rooflines and broken lamps, there was little risk or worry that their flight would be seen, and none would think to try to follow.

Wind flew past her ears, whistling and singing as it tangled her hair. She knew the very moment they entered the alleyway. The air was dank and cooler here, never warmed by sunlight or the press of bodies. When Bella opened her eyes, looking past his shoulder, the mouth of the street, pale gray against the black walls surrounding them, seemed to shrink faster than she could follow.

Block after block, they shot across wider, busier streets, headlights and lit windows no more than a blur of light and dark. Those brief flares of brightness and sound when the walls fell away were the only indicators of how far they traveled. They seemed to pass by like seconds. It reminded her of nights long ago when she'd traveled across the Olympic Peninsula on one of her Cullens' backs, whipping past limbs and trees, drinking in the air even as the speed drew tears from her eyes. A hint of recalled exhilaration tinged her blood.

Abruptly, the elevation changed, and there was the telltale clink of metal folding. Bella could only assume that they'd passed over something – maybe a car. Then somewhere above the whir of streaking air, she heard a growl, something mechanical and loud, like a tightly wound engine gunning. It sounded almost as if it were following their chase. Before she could ask, there was a sudden burst of acceleration, sinking her stomach and confirming her fears. Demetri's name rang in her head.

_Edward, please don't run, _a voice called out. It was high and bell-like, the thoughts and words speeding faster than a human's mind could possibly function. The owner knew his name, and moreover, following her words were images that were impossible to ignore. Bella's face flashed, although instead of sharp cheekbones and supple curves, her cheeks were rounder, younger, and her hips were straight and narrow. _We're here to help. For Bella. Please... _

Another voice, this time male, a light, lilting tenor, cut in. _We chased the guard into the harbor. You damaged him for certain, but still he was too fast and unpredictable. We'd have followed, but Alice said that we needed to come back to find you. _

There was pause, and then the tenor spoke the one phrase that truly reached him.

_Three of us can protect her better than one. _

Edward slowed as he approached the next intersection. Everything in him screamed apprehension and distrust. He spun through memory after memory, targeting those specifically taken from his brief encounter with Carlisle Cullen weeks ago. When he searched the approaching vampires' thoughts, watching for faces and voices, there was no denying who they were. These were Bella's vampires, no doubt here because the future-teller saw something that allowed them to intervene.

"Bella?" she heard him whisper in her ear. That he'd stopped worried her. On her right, a sleek two-door approached, its nose angled sharply and low to the ground. Pinks and greens from the overhead signs glared off its dark hood and blacked out tint. Craning her neck around to follow, as if in slow motion, she watched it crawl closer, only stopping when it was directly in front of them.

A door clicked, and a mop of inky hair slid up through the space between the roof and the door frame. Familiar, pale white features, unchanged from seven years past, were set into an expression that warred between contrition and joy.

Edward's grip tightened as he felt her body stiffen in alarm. Her lips parted, closed, and then parted once more. When she finally spoke, Bella's voice was just audible, but it carried blatant shock and incredulity.

"Alice?"

**~.~.~**

The room smelled of linen and lavender oil, strong but not unpleasant. With its Victorian antiques, stacks of floral quilts, and lace window shades, the space was reminiscent of an era that he had almost forgotten. It was quiet, too, especially after the hall-like roar of the city and its millions of occupants. Here, in a tiny town just east of the Illinois border, only a handful of voices reached his mind.

"Would you like me to wash the blood off?" Alice murmured from the doorway, unsure of her place. _I'm sure it's difficult for you. I can't imagine the restraint you must have._

Edward gently laid Bella's limp and sleeping body on the old-fashioned bed. Even in slumber, there was a deep 'v' between her brows and her lips were turned down, trembling ever so slightly. She was dreaming, and by the way her fingers refused to release his, her visions were not good ones. There was little doubt as to what horrific scenes her mind conjured, yet he was powerless to stop them or to change them. Without question, Bella – his _mate_ and other half – was at her limit in every possible way, balanced on the knife-edge of too much. Any more would break her.

Their car ride had been long, circuitous, and stressful, especially for Bella. He wasn't certain what exactly he had expected would happen when her Cullens arrived only to spirit them away in the middle of the night, but it wasn't what had occurred. Perhaps, Edward had believed that there would have been relieved embraces, or maybe even angry shouting. Bella had certainly not shied away from confronting him, even when he'd been bent on killing her himself. But there had been none of that. Instead, for the entirety of the journey, if anything, she had been numb, lifelessly leaning into his side and speaking but a handful of words that were delivered in a flat monotone. After everything, she'd simply shut down, and now, she needed nourishment, sleep, and time to heal, both in body and in soul.

"I'll care for her. It's not difficult in the way you might believe," Edward answered quietly, brushing Bella's hair from her face. When he turned to the diminutive vampire behind him, his expression hardened and venom laced his tone. "Have you seen anything more of Demetri?"

Alice blanched, but complied, recalling everything she'd seen, and through her eyes, Edward watched the future spin. The images were disorderly and flitting, some of which he could comprehend, but others of which he could only categorize as nonsensical and meaningless.

There was an image of him kneeling before Aro, beaten and broken, then him streaking like lightning across a flattened cornfield, and then Bella, supplicant and offering herself to an unseen face in front of the gilded thrones he knew far too well. Edward blinked, startled and disbelieving, and she was suddenly red-eyed and growling, clawing her way through an oaken door. He blinked again, and she was painted with wet blood and as cold as ice. That image resonated; it filled him with the same piercing fear and blind desperation that had taken him to his knees outside of their hotel in New York the night before. Shaken, Edward sank to the bed beside Bella and stared at their entwined hands, willing that particular future away with every cell in his body.

Remaining in Alice's mind, a dozen other scenarios flickered, but the visions were so fast, almost impossible to follow, even with his mind and knowledge of their foe. There were simply too many decisions that remained unmade and that many more outcomes. Somewhere in the middle, however, amidst the pure chaos that was their future, there was a glimpse of the tracker flying through an olive grove, the high castle walls ahead in the distance.

"He's on his way back," he muttered. "How far is that ahead? How much time?"

Alice shook her head. "Soon. I can't tell exactly, but he's somewhere in Europe now… I believe. He's been on the move for hours. I don't think… he's not sure what he'll say. But he's always, always returning to Volterra."

She moved deeper inside of the room, cautiously settling on the edge of a cream upholstered settee by the window. Looking out, the sun was drifting below the horizon, washing the sky in a swirled spectrum of reds and oranges and bright magentas. Like her visions, there was no defined end or beginning, just a blur of colors and maybes.

"No, I imagine that Demetri is more than apprehensive," Edward mused, recalling not just his own memories. "Failure amongst the guard is rarely tolerated, if at all. It's been nearly a century since the last time such has occurred. Caius… he was livid and demanded that an example be made. And so it was." Edward could still hear the sickening crack of cleaving bones and the shrieks of pain that echoed through every dark tunnel and chamber.

The soft pad of rubber soles broke his reverie. "Would they destroy their best tracker?" Jasper posed from the entry. "That would be poor strategy on their part. Especially since he's the only one who can find you. And I assume us, too, now that he saw us. That's how his talent works, correct?"

The two men eyed each other quietly but warily, as if in polite, accepted distrust. On a purely instinctual level, the alpha predator in Edward saw the glimmering crescent-shaped evidence of Jasper's long-ago battle scars and considered him a viable threat. He was lean, hard cut, and strong, and he moved with the grace and purpose of an experienced warlord. In Jasper's eyes, Edward was the same – well trained, ruthless, and dangerous – and on some real level, he was unsure of Edward's loyalties, regardless of Alice's persuasions.

More so, while Bella _knew _Alice and Jasper and, at least at one point in her life, had loved them, Edward harbored no such warm feelings. In spite of of their motivations at the time, they, along with the rest of the Cullens, had damned her. They had taken Bella in and told her their secrets, only to abandon her and send her into the world helpless and mortal, suffering knowledge that could only result in death and condemnation.

It was a tentative alliance between these three vampires, one that existed only because Edward saw the logic in Jasper's argument for numbers.

Edward nodded. "If Demetri saw you, then he can find you." Frustrated, his fist balled and dug into the top of his thigh. "And no, they won't destroy him… yet. They may… punish him, but I doubt they will destroy him. Caius isn't a fool, and Aro is arrogant, conniving, and greedy. They will send him back here, along with others under the orders to either to take us back or to kill us. Jane – she will be with him this time. And so will Alec. I don't know how–"

"Edward," Bella cried, the plea in her voice immediately jerking his attention away. "Please! No!"

As if she were being physically tortured by her dreams, Bella thrashed against the quilts, shaking her head back and forth, and streams of tears spilled down her cheeks, staining the pillow beneath her head.

"Shh," he shushed, placing a hand on her forehead. To his cool, her skin was hot, feverish, and splotched red from blood flow. He could smell her terror; adrenaline spiked her perfume and saturated the air. At a loss, Edward pulled their joined hands to his lips and gently kissed her fingertips, murmuring what he could only hope were soothing words. Bella stilled only minutely, but the tears continued to fall and the muscles of her face still strained and twisted.

_Let me help her, Edward. I can calm her. _

Edward glanced up and saw pain written across Jasper's stone features. His composed, unruffled demeanor had departed and abruptly, Edward realized that he felt what she felt – what they all felt. Without thinking or hesitating, he nodded his acquiescence, willing to try anything to banish her nightmares.

It was almost as if a fog fell, engulfing the room in gray haze. Long fingers of calm stretched out and enveloped him, trickling through his awareness and consciousness. It was heavy and it pressed down on his shoulders and against his chest, taking him to a state closer to sleep than he'd experienced since the moment he awoke to this life. To his right, Alice leaned back against the cushion of the settee and closed her eyes. Everything – time and motion – slowed. Breaths were marked by minutes, and when he glanced toward the window, even the dust particles seemed to suspend their motion.

It was an alarming sensation, one that Edward automatically wanted to shed out of self-preservation and instinct, but the moment Bella quieted, his discomfort no longer mattered. Her grip relaxed and she sighed peacefully, drifting back into the realm of deep, uninterrupted sleep.

"Thank you," was all he said, pushing through the lethargy.

"What is Bella to you?" Jasper asked unexpectedly, staring Edward down as if to ferret out his secrets by the force of will alone. There was no malice there, but the gravity and seriousness was evident. _Alice __says…_

Not looking away from Bella's face, Edward pressed his lips to the top of her hand, to her wrist, and then to her palm. Against her skin, he softly – wistfully – replied, "I belong to her."

_What does that mean?_ Jasper knew, but for any trust to exist between them, he wanted to hear the words from Edward's own mouth. _Prove to me you won't kill her… that you aren't still serving your masters in Italy. _

Edward's brows knitted together and he sighed, exasperated even under the weight of Jasper's fog. "Exactly that. I belong to her in the same way you do to your Alice. But _more_. Hurting her is… incomprehensible." There was but one other vampire who walked this earth who could possibly grasp the complexity and depth of their linkage. And after his betrayal, Marcus would likely send him to oblivion as surely as Caius or Aro.

"Do you love her?"

Exasperation morphed into an irrational anger, incredulous that their connection could be doubted or questioned after all of this. Edward looked up at Jasper, his eyes dark and churning, and more heated than intended, he snapped his response.

"Those words belong to her and to her alone, not you… But you tell me, do I love her, _empath?_"

**~.~.~**

He had stalled long enough.

Before him, stood a sheer limestone wall topped by high parapets and towers that reached toward the heavens. It was early, and the ground was still coated with shimmering dew. The sun was just creeping over the hills, a hidden ball of yellow fire, lighting the sky from gray to the palest pink.

The morning watchman slowly walked the top of the curtain wall, eyeing the short line of approaching cars and people on foot – merchants arriving to open their stores and shops. Puffing his last cigarette, he glanced from the road to a nearby pebbled walking path and saw a man dressed in all black standing statue-still and staring at the gate. He was an unexpected sight and he stuck out against the greenery of the fields and olive groves. It was a rarity to see one of them – one of the Keep dwellers – in the daylight hours. When the man in black raised his face to meet his, his dark cowl sliding down and exposing bone white features and black eyes, the watchman flinched and immediately looked away in meek deference.

"I thought I heard you out here," a voice clipped.

Demetri glanced to his left, surprised by neither her presence nor her curt address. It was only a matter of time, he knew. For a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath – perhaps one of his last – tasting scents of wet leaves, crushed olives, and a hint of burned tobacco.

A petite female draped in robes blacker than his approached, her heels clicking sharply against the pebbles. As she drew closer, the sweet cloy of vampire pushed away all else. When he turned to face her, her irises were bright crimson and her cherubic face was alight with undisguised amusement.

He didn't have to ask to know; she suspected his failure and was already delighting in it. Demetri was no fool, however; he would not dare to provoke _her_. There was no question whatsoever regarding the power differential between them, despite her stature and child-like countenance. Politely, Demetri dipped his head in greeting. "Jane."

"Demetri." She nodded briskly, wasting little time.

There was a hint of an Old European accent coloring her words and tone, a particular curl of the tongue around certain sounds and syllables. None ever mentioned it, especially not Demetri; Jane's human past was an untouchable topic, understood amongst the guard and those who frequented the castle. Those few who made that mistake suffered the wrath of a vengeful child who possessed the ability to burn a man from the inside. The daughter of a witch, strung up on the rack, Jane had watched her mother and her mother's mother burn in the bonfires at Exeter. After Aro had turned her, she had loosed her revenge on the entire countryside. Her need to inflict suffering could never be quenched, despite the centuries.

"I see you've finally returned. Where's Felix? I was told he would be with you."

He tensed, recalling the horrific screech of his fellow guard's tearing flesh. Swallowing, he fisted a section of his robe and replied, "I need to speak with Master Caius. Immediately."

Jane's lips quirked and she answered with a short punch of air. "Very well," she chuckled. "They know you're here. They're already in the solar waiting. Caius and Aro are _both_ quite interested in your little adventure."

Moments later, a hush fell over the ancient chamber as the two vampires entered. Curious, claret eyes followed their steps, each silently wondering the same questions Jane had voiced outside. From the way they stared, as if they were waiting for the ax to fall, Demetri understood that it had not taken long after he had left for the word to spread that he and Felix had been sent for Edward. Now, weeks later and empty handed, his circumstance was dubious at best.

"_Demetrios_," Caius hissed from the dais.

Demetri resisted the urge to cringe and fall prostrate on the stone floor. Abandoning his escort, he slowly approached the pale kings, bowing his head. "Masters," he whispered.

Caius stared down at the dark head cast down before him. After two millennia, he knew his servant well, and there was dread apparent in his every motion. The tendons on the side of his neck stretched long and taut, and his fingers clawed his robes as if to stay his hands.

He had failed.

A pulse of icy fury shot through him, rumbling loudly in his chest. There was a pop of wood pulverizing as his fists locked around the armrests of his throne. Before Caius could speak, before he could strike in his anger, Aro stood and interrupted, his voice high and probing.

"Where is our Edward?" Aro cooed, extending his hand, beckoning Demetri forward like a father would a wayward son. "Come, my son, tell me what happened."

"Aro…" Caius growled, his teeth bared and slick.

"Quiet!" Aro roared back, abruptly losing all sense of civility. Caius was not the only one who drew conclusions. "Your little game caused this debacle, _brother_. I need to make sense of it all. That cannot occur unless I see everything."

"Come, Demetri, show me."

Demetri looked up and found two pairs of eyes glued to him, waiting. Saying no more, he inhaled, smelling the musk of age, dust, and stone and the remnants of human blood that stained the walls as he placed his palm in Aro's.

Aro's eyes clamped shut as a barrage of disorganized images and thoughts sped from Demetri's mind into his own.

_Preening and taunting his strength and position, Felix plotted his hunt. He wants to play and he calls Edward unworthy of his station…_

_Hot, piquant blood splashes on his tongue… a young blond haired boy in a studio apartment taken as they waited… He screams too loudly… Too many days of waiting… _

_Edward's behavior makes little sense. He's not moving. He stationed himself in the New York apartment… and now he's gone… He's in a hotel now…. And there was a girl with him, a human that he keeps like a pet… _

_There's a call from Caius. He's demanding and impatient. I don't think Aro knows about this. Maybe he does… We'll be torn apart if they're in disagreement… but the order's been given… _

_Felix still wants to play. He sees the girl as a weakness and he wishes to draw Edward out to fight. He wants to incense him… We enter the hotel… Edward is to the north somewhere… Felix smiles and attacks the girl… Her flesh splits, and blood sprays like a fountain, saturating the air. The scent… it's so exquisite and so pure that it's divine almost… Succulent… Want… _

_We both want to drink her, but Felix's obsession with Edward is stronger… consuming…. He clamps his hand over my mouth… The itching to take her and the claustrophobia from closed off airways is maddening… _

_Felix is a fool. I tell him and we scuffle. We argue, barely restraining ourselves from outright fighting… Our voices echo like thunderstorms in the cavern of the warehouse… The girl… she is unconscious… she's weak yet her blood is still strong… She's crying in the dark and I can hear Edward's name pour from her lips… I don't understand… She's cattle… _

_Edward is finally here. He's… livid… a dark demon, possessed and filled with unspeakable rage. We've stolen his toy… I don't want to fight you, Edward… Please come back to Volterra. Aro will understand… _

_He's so fast… Felix, no! _

Aro watched everything suddenly move in fast-forward as Edward attacked, launching himself at the two guards with unfathomable speed and agility, driven by wrath alone. Felix's agonized screams were ear-splitting, reverberating and echoing between the buildings. Demetri moved to defend, but as quickly as he assaulted, through his mind, Aro felt the wind across his face and the crash of a wall. From a high window, he watched as Edward quartered his fellow guard and lit him aflame.

The battle itself was chaotic, lightning fast, and Demetri was only privy to parts of it, making the images jumbled and confusing. Amidst the confrontation and subsequent carnage, however, one brief memory in particular stood out, strange and seemingly at odds.

_Why? Why her? What is it about her? She's nothing more than food. Why destroy yourself over a human, Edward?_

_She was mine…_

Aro played and replayed that scene again, hearing both the possessiveness and the veneration her name and face evoked. When understanding dawned as he pieced the memories together, a sharp stab of unease, a disquieting recollection of millennia ago, shot down Aro's spine and took root.

Wordlessly, he glanced back to the dais where Caius glowered down at them both, impatient and demanding explanation. On the left, Marcus sat mute and disinterested, seemingly unaware of the situation at hand. Instead, like always, he stared at the flutter of brocade dancing in the wind from the nearby window.

"Master?" Demetri entreated, his voice rasping.

"Caius," Aro called out, strangely calm and suspiciously civil, ignoring the pleading vampire before him. "I will explain everything to you later. There is no need to discuss this treachery here, amongst so many. We shall deal with this shortly and privately." He paused, and the two kings stared at each other in quiet regard. Caius despised Aro's manipulations and secrecy, but he knew him well enough to know that there was more here than he had suspected. Reluctantly, he nodded, as Aro continued, "I may also have more to ask of our Demetri. We may need him and his particular skill set."

Confused, Demetri looked up in alarm, darting back and forth between Aro and Caius, not understanding this pronouncement at all. Quiet murmurs in the galley echoed his bafflement. It was unheard of to halt proceedings and move them elsewhere, more so, to a concealed setting. "Master?" he asked again. "I don't under-"

Aro's expression hardened and his eyes flashed to midnight in sudden, unexplainable rage. "Silence! You will not speak. You have failed, Demetrios. You are fortunate that you are not ash."

He turned away, returning to his throne and leaving Demetri bemused and reeling. Almost pleasantly, he smiled and glanced at the fair-haired girl to his right. "Jane?"

"Yes, Master?" she purred, smiling in sadistic delight.

"Keep him silent, my dear."

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Minor details:  
**Per canon, Aro saved Jane and Alec as they were burned at the stake. In this story, you can see I've altered that somewhat, but have kept to a similar back-story. You can infer that Jane, as well as Alec, were originally from England, close to Exeter.

In England, historically witchcraft and heresy were punished by hanging more often than burning. Burning at the stake was more common on the Continent, especially in Germany, Denmark, etc. It did occur in England and definitely in Scotland, however, and there were trials that resulted in burnings at Exeter (the last in 1682). While I've not explicitly said, you can assume that Jane and Alec were turned sometime in the late 1500's. In my head, they were approximately thirteen to fourteen years old.


	19. An Eye in the Storm

**An Eye in the Storm**

* * *

"You left."

Bella's quiet statement hung in the air, demanding acknowledgment despite its volume. The words were neither a question nor a plea, but instead, a flatly delivered accusation, weighted and condemning. They were at once anger, disappointment, and resentment, a bitter concoction that had built and compounded rather than waned over the years, all delivered in one simple phrase.

Nothing else was said, and the room went utterly still, devoid of movement or motion. Broken only by soft breaths and a single thumping heart, the silence was almost deafening.

Perched at the foot of the four poster bed, staring down at her lap and lost in both the silence and her own thoughts, Alice fingered the detailed edging of topmost quilt, absently picking an errant thread. It was a human behavior – to stall – a hesitance borne from not knowing, of anticipating what could not be seen and fearing the outcome. While she knew this conversation had to occur and she expected Bella's anger, hearing the effects of their years ago decisions and actions in her voice was an altogether different experience. Even with her gift of foresight, it was impossible to guess if forgiveness was even an option. But the truth was owed.

After what seemed like an age, "I know," was all she said – all Alice knew how to say. Guilt for now and for then left her momentarily mute. Nothing Alice could say would excuse or would right the wrong of years past.

Propped up by a mountain of fluffed pillows, all trimmed with frilly antique lace, Bella stared at her once best friend's bowed head, waiting for her to say more. From the spiky mop of dark, nearly black hair to her slender, almost boy-like figure, on the surface, Alice looked absolutely the same as she had the last time Bella had seen her – that fateful night the Cullens left Forks when she'd said her hasty goodbye and vaulted out of Bella's second story window. Lithe and graceful, her movements had not changed, nor had the bell-like quality of her voice. Sitting here in this room, Alice was proof of the very immortality that Bella had been denied.

When Bella looked closer – more carefully – however, some things had changed. Gone were the sparkling honey-colored eyes and the mischievous, nymph-like smile. Gone were the lively laughs and the sure embraces. Instead, sitting stiff and stone still, Alice's fingers gripped the quilt too tightly and her lip folded between her teeth.

Alice was anxious, as if she feared being turned away, or perhaps as if for once she knew not what to do. Beyond that, she simply looked… _exhausted_. While vampires never tired physically, Alice appeared as though she'd been sent to hell and back. Her eyes were soot and her cheeks were gaunt; she was starving, or she had starved herself. Bella's stomach sank at the implication, even as years of pent-up rejection fueled her indictments.

Even softer than before, Bella went on, "You lied to me, Alice. You all did. How could… I just…" She trailed off, not really knowing what to ask or demand. So many years Bella had searched for them – her Cullens – spending countless nights and countless days hidden away in libraries chasing scraps of hints and slivers of clues. Since that one night so long ago, she had devoted everything to recapturing what she'd lost, and that singular mission had been simply to find them, not even considering what would happen if she succeeded. Here it was, that moment of reunion, yet nothing had prepared her for this reality, for the internal chaos and indecision. Anger and indignation warred with tears and relief, leaving her unsure of what path to follow.

Alice looked up, meeting Bella's questioning gaze, and slowly nodded. Gathering the resolve to answer – to explain – she inhaled a deep breath of fragrant air.

Even after Edward had cleansed Bella's skin and replaced the bandage around her arm, the scent of her dried blood, sweet, lightly floral, and very human, lingered in the room, easily overpowering any manufactured perfume or cleanser. Inwardly, Alice shook her head, still not fully grasping how Edward had withstood her – how he had withstood his _singer _and the raging bloodlust she had ignited. Even amongst her family, such a thing was incomprehensible. Emmett had killed his _singer_ after but two breaths in her presence. Yet this Volturi guard, a vampire who had lived and breathed human blood and destruction for a century, _had_ resisted.

Alice breathed in again, welcoming the fiery sting that singed her thirsting throat. Like Edward, feeding was the last thing on her mind. That scent and its accompanying burn was proof of Bella's humanity and the fact that she still existed, despite the odds. By the same token, now, staring at the bandage of white gauze wrapped around her upper arm and the plum colored bruises on her skin and face, it also served as a vicious reminder of just how dire their situation was, of how Bella had very nearly been slaughtered, and of just how useless and late Alice's visions had been. She swallowed, acknowledging that this moment might be the only chance she would have to try to right her wrongs.

"Do you remember when we went to Portland for the weekend?" Alice asked, her voice barely above a whisper. If she had believed that Bella would have forgotten after so long, she would have been sorely mistaken. The flash of recognition was impossible to miss as it swept through Bella's features. As soon as the name "Portland" passed Alice's lips, Bella's expression locked and her brow set into a hard line. Not speaking, she dipped her head.

"The lies started there…" Alice continued. "The trip wasn't just for fun. It wasn't to shop. It was to get you out of Forks…"

As Alice spoke, Bella stared out the window, watching the sky grow ever darker. Beyond, past the seemingly endless fields of head-high corn, the far horizon was now no more than a faint strip of pale blue against darkest navy. The daytime clouds had long since departed, and with so little in the way of unnatural light, the stars twinkled like faceted gemstones. After the perpetual lights of Chicago and then New York, she realized that she hadn't seen real stars in years.

It was strange how it took less than fifteen minutes to dispel the mystery that had haunted her for years. As Alice told her about the three nomads who had happened upon their home in their wanderings and how they had pieced together her involvement in the Cullens' lives, it felt as though she were in a dream, as though it were not her life, but someone else's. These three random vampires had threatened them all with the very evil that chased her now – the Volturi. That was why they'd left – to protect her because she wasn't supposed to know – yet all of their efforts had been for naught.

The room turned silent once more as Alice waited for some sign of understanding or more likely for questions. Downstairs, there was whining creak, the snap of an old screen door, and then almost inaudible, quick footfalls against soft grass. When she sifted through the immediate future, she saw Edward streaking through the sparse forest nearby in chase of a tawny hide, finally trusting her and Jasper enough – even though it was only for a few minutes – to watch and protect his… _mate_ while he fed.

Bella glanced down at her clasped hands. Her knuckles were white, so pale against the dark florals of the coverlet. When she closed her eyes, as if it were yesterday, she could see the tenderness in Carlisle's sad, fatherly smile and she could hear his gentle voice as he denied her one wish – the one thing she'd asked of them.

"_I can't, Bella. You have no idea what you're asking. I won't take the life of an innocent, of one who still has so much potential and happiness ahead of her. I won't condemn you to this… I won't take your life from you…"_

"_But, Carlisle, I know what I'm asking… I want this. I want to be like you. I don't belong in my world… Surely, you see that… I never have. You- you all are the closest thing to a family I've ever had… I belong with you…"_

"_I'm sorry… I won't kill you…"_

"_But the others! You changed them! Why not me?"_

"_Bella, they – we – we were all dying. We had no choice. You do. I won't take that away from you. Not a single one of us, if given the chance, would have chosen this… You can't comprehend what you are asking…You're only seventeen. You can't grasp what you would be giving up…"_

"_I thought you loved me. You told me I was like a daughter to you. I don't understand."_

"_You are my daughter, just as much as Alice or Rose. And we do love you, which is why we can't give you what you ask…" _

Angrily, Bella swiped at the tears that streaked down her cheeks. Stronger, driven by recalled desolation, she blurted, "I searched for you after you left. I've done _nothing_ but search for you for years, for _seven_ years. I didn't know what else to do. It was all I could think of. It was the only way I could prove to myself that you existed at all and that the happiness I'd felt was real. You were all I had… Yes, there was Charlie, but _you_ were my family.

"And you _knew_ that I looked for you." Now glaring, Bella shook her head and gritted her teeth against the welling of emotion. "You said that you were leaving for my own good and that you would never interfere again…

"But don't you dare deny that you kept up with me, that you knew that I was looking for you. I know that you did. I _know_ that the scholarship that sent me to Chicago for undergrad was bogus. And I _know_ that the apartment in New York was _yours_, _Mrs. Alicia Barton_…"

Now almost yelling, she went on, "Why? Explain that to me. Explain how that worked, how it was somehow okay for you to keep tabs on me, even after you said you wouldn't. Explain how you left for my own good, to save me from the Volturi, yet you allowed me to dig and search on my own. Alone. How was that any different?" The last words were delivered like blows, each punctuated by angry breaths through clenched teeth.

Alice flinched, but didn't answer right away, instead waiting for Bella to finish. Nothing that she said was false, and the heat in her voice was deserved. The blatant hypocrisy she voiced was real.

Selfishly, they all had gone back on their word. They all had watched the girl they called a sister from afar and they all had intervened in their own way. To say that none realized the risk would have been a lie. They knew, but deep down, none had wanted to leave Forks in the first place.

Unable to stop the flood of tears, Bella pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her arms around them, trying to physically stem the empty pain of remembrance. She sucked in lavender scented air, letting it fill her lungs and expand her chest, and then finally, she choked out the most hurtful questions of all.

"And then, Alice, explain why you thought that changing me wasn't _my_ decision. That it was yours to make. How you played God. Explain why you and Carlisle and Esme – all of you – stole that from me."

Alice's features crumpled and her body shook with dry, tearless sobs. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I'm so, so sorry… Everything we did was a mistake…"

**~.~.~**

From the threshold, he quietly watched her as she lay on her side and numbly stared out through the now black window. In that moment, while he wasn't privy to her thoughts any more than he ever had been, Edward didn't need them.

In sharp contrast to the softness that he'd come to know, the lines of her face were drawn tight, still tense and filled with the unrest of long-held resentment and of the deep-seeded wounds that a one hour conversation had no hope of undoing or healing. By the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, Bella's breathing was shallow and in the silence of the room, accelerated from her confrontation, her heartbeat thumped loudly, hammering and echoing its heavy cadence in his ears. Even if he couldn't see the swollen eyelids and almost invisible tracks of previously shed tears, her distress was palpable, a life force with a presence of its own that left him aching.

That she hurt made him angry, and it made the tips of his fingers dig into the wood of the doorframe.

Regardless of their reasoning and well-meaning excuses and regardless of their supposed love, for Edward, now wholly cut loose and asunder from his masters and creator, there was but one loyalty – _her_.

And Bella was in pain because of _them._

The tears that stained her cheeks were because of them. The dark bruises that colored her skin and the blood that she'd shed were surely his fault – for he had left her unprotected – but ultimately, they were there because of them, too. That he himself had been sent to destroy her – _everything_ – was because they had failed her and cast her aside.

His first instinct was to tear her Cullens apart for the damage they'd wrought. But he needed them to keep her alive. Furthermore, he wouldn't – _couldn't_ – because hurting those she loved would hurt her.

"What can I do?" Edward whispered as he slowly crossed the small space to the bed. "What would you have me do to fix this for you?"

In the reflection of the glass, a war played across Edward's pale face, shattering his carefully cultivated façade. As he silently approached, fists clenched and shoulders taut, there was little doubt that he had overheard her conversation with Alice and there was even less as to his leaning. For in the flash of his ruby eyes and in the brace of his granite jaw, Bella saw barely concealed fury and the desperate need to break things on her behalf. Yet he restrained himself for her as well, understanding her need for closure even as he wanted to whisk her away.

Her vampire – because Edward _was_ truly _hers_ – was wary and unsure of himself, out of place and out of time, a dark panther asked to heel like a housecat.

"Lay down with me?" she asked, her voice soft and still marred by stress.

Without hesitation, Edward removed his shoes and lowered himself to the side of the bed behind her. Careful to avoid Bella's injured arm and the loathsome purple marks from Felix's handling, he curled himself around her so closely and so tightly that her body heat rolled like waves through the quilt between them, warming him immediately. It was only like this, when he could hold on to her and feel her life in his arms, that he truly believed that she was here and not the ephemeral figment that he'd chased through the streets of Manhattan. He could forget where they were and why; he could lose himself only in her.

"Is this too much? Is this too close for you?" Bella murmured, even as she melted into his chest.

Edward shook his head. "No, it's not close enough."

Gently, he combed her hair, still damp from her shower, away from the back of her neck. His fingers skimmed her skin, stroking it like the softest silk before he pressed his lips to the slight indention where her neck and shoulder were joined. Though he knew that her reactions were not from his chill, the flesh there pebbled, and Edward could feel the shiver that coursed through her limbs. He lingered there, running his nose from her shoulder to her hairline, inhaling and filling his lungs with her scent, only stopping to slowly kiss that spot again and again, as if that physical action could drive away her melancholy. With each touch of his lips, the strike of her heart ticked upward in time, resounding through her back and into him. He could feel the shockwaves of its beat, a natural resonance to which his body was tuned. It was almost as if her heartbeat were his own.

"Will you forgive her? Any of them?" Edward asked quietly.

Bella's fingers threaded between his, gripping him firmly, seemingly uncaring of his chill.

"Eventually, I think. If we have that kind of time lef– " She stopped before she finished that thought. "I spent so much time looking. This wasn't the conversation that I'd imagined. It was… I don't know, anticlimactic maybe, if that makes any sense.

"Yelling didn't really make me feel better, and I _hated_ seeing her sob. I love her. I love all of them, even after…And I'm afraid for her and Jasper now. I wish they would run. Maybe the Volturi would leave them alone." Bella swallowed and shook her head as she continued, "But not today. I can't just get over something like that. I need to think. I'm still… it hurts… They didn't believe I was capable of deciding anything for myself… And look where that got us."

Edward grimaced, hearing the echo of his own thoughts, but he said nothing.

"But I don't hold grudges well." She sighed and shifted, rolling onto her back so that she could look up at him. A hint of a smile, something of which he'd seen so little, flitted, and her cheeks flushed pale pink. "We didn't meet under the best of circumstances, you know. Look at me now. I'm in a bed with you. And I'm not exactly screaming."

Edward's lips twitched, fighting the responding amusement at her abrupt and unexpected levity. His eyes roamed her face and the pads of his fingers followed. "No, no you're not. But then your sense of self-preservation is rather lacking, Ms. Swan. You've never been afraid of me. Not even when you should have been."

Softer, looking away, more pensive by the 'v' between his brows, Edward exhaled, "I want to hurt them, Isabella. You're here because of their arrogance. I can't forget that. I will never forgive them that, no matter what occurs."

Hot hands crept along his jaw and framed his face, willing his focus to return to her. Obeying, he stared down into dark liquid eyes, not comprehending the warmth he saw there.

"Yes, I'm _here_ because of them." Bella pulled his face down until his lips hovered just above hers. "So are you."

The feel of her mouth on his was something akin to the purest of pleasures. Heat and silk and taste inundated him such that everything else fell away. There was no room, no Alice, no Volturi. It was as though she'd captured and leashed every part of him, demanding the undivided attention of every cell in his being.

Unlike before, this was no gentle, closed mouth, tentative press of skin against skin. Bella wanted more – she _needed_ more from him. Her lips parted and her tongue slowly slid across his bottom lip. Very nearly gasping, Edward stilled, but when she licked him again, stealing his reason, this time, hesitantly, his darted out to meet hers.

Edward tasted like nothing she'd ever imagined. His venom was sweet, like the finest candy liqueur. Despite the chill, the taste of it set her blood ablaze, and uncaring of risk, her mouth immediately slanted and opened wider, yielding and molding around his marble. As they moved against each other, his thumb ghosted along her cheek, gliding up and down the side of her face from her temple to the thumping pulse point at her throat, setting her skin on fire with each pass.

A low whimper spilled into her mouth just before he pulled back, panting for air he didn't need. Yet even as he broke their kiss, his touch never ceased, instead continuing and venturing more boldly along a wider circuit, dipping just beneath the edge of her shirt's neckline. Above her, Edward's eyes were wide, his irises dark but still crimson in hue.

Something was different, however, now that he was so close and she could truly see. Her lips parted and then closed. Bella reached up, lightly tracing the chiseled ridges of the hollows of his eyes.

"They're different," she finally said. "Before… before they were like a dark merlot. Now, they're rustier, muddier maybe. Why?"

Momentarily distracted, Edward shrugged, though one corner of his mouth pulled up into a poorly disguised smirk. "I've… my _diet_ has diversified."

It took her less than a second to grasp his cryptic comment, and the resulting grin that stretched across her face, nearly blinding him in its radiance, was easily worth the dissatisfaction of a lesser meal.

Her palm flattened against his chest, resting just where his human heart had been. Matching the pleased smile, her eyes gleamed. "Bad?" she teased, knowing the answer already.

Almost playfully – at least more so than she'd ever witnessed from him – Edward rolled on top of her, his elbows falling to the mattress on either side of her to hold his weight. "You can't imagine," he teased back, nuzzling her throat, blowing cool air across her skin. "It was… _terrible_. Let's just say that you were correct. It's possible; it's just not _pleasant_."

As quickly as it appeared, the teasing departed. Far more seriously, Edward added, "I _tried_ to feed." The tone that now colored his voice, low and wavering and so different from his laughter, made it sound as though he were admitting his greatest weakness or failure. "When I left you in the hotel that night…" He cringed away from his own words. "My intent then was no different than it ever was, although I targeted miscreants as a compromise, perhaps. And in one of the parks along the river, I found a vile creature who warranted a death far worse than the one I would give him."

Bella's breath caught in her throat, imagining Edward stalking his prey, silent, graceful, and so very lethal.

"But I _couldn't_. That was why I didn't return… in time. Instead, I fled deeper into the park until I found… an alternate meal, one that was _palatable_ to my… _conscience_."

"What do you mean?"

Against her lower lip, his forefinger tapped the rhythm of her heart's clapping beat, the same one that had saved that miserable, murderous wretch. "I couldn't kill him. Even though he deserved it, I couldn't."

"Why?" she pressed again.

His gaze pinned her where she lay, intense and scorching with the same unspoken emotion that seemed to rock through her entire body.

Undeniable sincerity rang in his voice, stealing her breath, as he whispered, "Isabella, I won't have you looking upon me with disgust if I can help it. You are… more important to me now. My existence and everything it entailed before you was meaningless, the darkest of nights. Those nights are no more. They have fallen to you. For as long as I breathe and exist, you are everything that I have, everything that I am."

A deep, radiant warmth flooded her veins, and for a long moment, she couldn't speak.

Wordlessly, asking permission with her eyes, her hands slowly drifted to the hem of his shirt, sneaking beneath to paw at the hard lines of his abdomen. At the contact, Edward inhaled sharply and fought to keep his eyes from rolling back. Her palms against his bare flesh felt like branding irons, and there was nothing in heaven or on earth that he wanted more than for her to never take her hands off of him again.

Aggravated by the interference of fabric, when he made no move to stop her, she peeled it off him, unceremoniously tossing his shirt to the floor.

He eyed her with unconcealed longing, an ache that could only be stemmed by contact and connection. "Mine, too," Bella breathed. When she pulled her own t-shirt over her head, she heard a soft pant of air.

He groaned when she kissed his palm, her eyes never looking away from the sheer veneration in his. The way he stared at her, as though he were memorizing every single inch of exposed skin, made her feel like an idol that he had come to worship.

"Touch me, Edward. Love me," she pleaded, incapable of hiding the raw need. She wanted all of him, in every way. She wanted him to claim her as she had laid claim to him.

His mouth was suddenly on hers again, and this time there was no hesitation whatsoever in the way his tongue slid against hers. As he kissed her, less restrained now, cool hands, firm yet endlessly gentle, ran along her ribcage, his fingers ghosting along each one of her ribs, dipping into their valleys and chasing their crests. He cupped the supple lower curves of her breasts, making her breath stutter and start when his thumbs teased and brushed across their rose colored peaks.

Countless times, Edward had witnessed acts of intimacy in the minds of others, amongst both humans and his kind, yet nothing prepared him for this. The feel of her – of so much of her – was near maddening, consuming in a way that he'd never dreamed. Bella was feverish almost, and everywhere their skin contacted, his ice thawed. All around them, the air electrified, crackling with intensity and the need for _more_, the need to merge and to absorb into each other.

Edward pulled her wrist to his mouth. Here, he could smell her perfume so purely, so unpolluted by anything else. It was utterly intoxicating, even as it no longer fired his thirst. Slowly, he licked the long line of her radial artery, tasting her skin and its perfection. Twice he repeated this path, from the base of her wrist to the bend of her elbow, watching her head fall back and her eyelids flutter shut.

"More," Bella hummed, winding her fingers into his hair as she blindly pulled his mouth back to hers.

Somehow, so quickly she could not follow, the rest of their clothing fell away until there was nothing but skin on skin, fire on ice. His lips dragged down her neck, his tongue lapping every inch of her, and then trailed to the valley between her breasts. Reverently, Edward kissed the skin there, marveling at the softness and shape, as his palms framed her hips.

She could feel _all _of him, every line and every part of him. Unable to stand any more, instinctively, her arms circled around to his back and her legs wrapped around the slim taper of his waist, pulling his lower half flush against hers. A low, purring growl rumbled through Edward's chest at the contact with the damp heat at the apex of her thighs.

He trembled with careful restraint. Poised at her entry, Edward looked up, and for a moment, he appeared lost, as if he were unsure of himself. There was flicker of a long since forgotten past, of archaic sensibilities that had remained hidden and dormant since his time as a human. Just as he had before, he traced the lines of her face, staring into her eyes for consent.

"I fear hurting you," Edward confessed, his brows folding together almost as if he were in pain himself.

"You won't hurt me," she answered, her voice thick with both need and surety.

Edward swallowed, his throat bobbing. "You must tell me the moment something is wrong. If there is any… _discomfort_ whatsoever."

Bella shifted her hips as she repeated, "You won't. I was made for you. I'm yours."

When he entered her, everything else vanished. Time lost its meaning and the world around them was no more than a blur of light and color. Eyes always on her, Edward paused, sheathed in her warmth, before they began a slow rhythm of push and pull.

"Yes," Bella sighed, overwhelmed by the sense of fullness – of wholeness – as she kissed the point of his long dead pulse.

Muffled breaths and soft moans echoed in the room as over and over, his hips thrust, meeting hers in perfect synchrony. Buried inside of her, it was unbridled ecstasy and wonder he felt, mirrored in the parted 'O' of her lips. The feel of her beneath him, hearing her breathy moans… there was no language or words that could describe the absolute rapture that coursed through him. It was alive and writhing, filling him completely and molding his stone body in its image.

"Mine," he breathed, staggered. "Love you. So much…"

As he moved, driving into her faster, more purposefully, her blood felt as though it were boiling in her veins, and her thighs quivered and shook. Each time their skin met, now wet from her sweat, Bella's entire frame undulated, shuddering beneath the onslaught of pure physical sensation and the need for release. For minutes or hours, he coaxed her, pushing her closer and closer to the precipice.

Against his stony flesh, her lips fell open, mouthing again and again, "I love you."

As if in perfect tune to her wants, Edward ran his hand down to her calf, lifting her leg and hitching it higher around his waist, deepening the angle. It was too much. Wave after wave of unrivaled pleasure crashed around her, shooting through her middle and her thighs as she clawed his back and called his name. When Edward felt her body tense, tightening around his beyond what he considered possible, his eyes clenched shut and he buried his face in the crook of her neck as his body immediately followed her command.

"No idea…" he gasped, as residual shivers still sped down his spine. Rolling them both over until she was draped across his torso, he kissed her temple and then her lips. "I had no idea… My Bella…"

For a long, hushed moment, they lay together, their limbs tangled and damp, neither willing to separate. Soothingly, Edward's fingertips glided up and down her back, tracing patterns she couldn't follow. Gradually, Bella's heartbeat slowed and her breathing quieted.

As she drifted toward sleep, she murmured, "When we get to Minnesota, I want _you_ to change me, Edward… Not Carlisle."

Edward's arms tightened around her and his eyes involuntarily slid shut against the sudden, violent barrage of battling fears and emotions. The notion was both obsessing and wholly terrifying. He wanted, he ached to give that to her, to himself… _but…_

Gulping, he choked a barely intelligible, "I don't know if I can... I–"

And then there was nothing but deep, resonating silence again and the fast lift and fall of his chest beneath her.

"It's okay," Bella mumbled, running her nails through the smattering of autumn colored hair below his navel. "I just… wanted you."

Minutes later, just on the cusp of sleep, when her body was floating in calm blackness, Edward's voice, low, soft, and melodic, whispered in her ear.

"Yes."

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**- **Above Alice tells Bella about the nomads visiting Forks and threatening to out the Cullens to the Volturi – the impetus for their abrupt departure. Since this has been detailed previously, I chose not to repeat it from a story-telling perspective. You can find it via the flashback in the first segment in Chapter 10.

- In relation to Bella's recalled conversation with Carlisle ("…_we were all dying. We had no choice."_) I've chosen not to go into detail on the Cullens' histories re: how/when/why they were changed. Those details aren't really that relevant to this story, and I didn't want to just add filler for filler's sake. In this story, you can assume that Carlisle's, Esme's, Emmett's, Rosalie's, Jasper's, and Alice's back-stories are the essentially same as per canon. The only difference in the Cullens' history is that Edward was obviously not changed by Carlisle and was never part of their lives.

- Lastly, if it's not obvious, I'm of the camp that venom can be ingested. It's only an "issue" if it enters directly into the bloodstream via a cut, bite, etc.


	20. Pursued by the Gods

**Pursued by the Gods**

* * *

It was quiet inside the racing car. Swathed in leather and dark paneling, the growl of the massive engine was little more than background noise, a deep hum that seemed to amplify the tense silence.

In front, Alice and Jasper were motionless but for the back and forth sweep of his thumb across their clasped hands. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Bella could see the faint, glimmering crescents that littered his pale skin, the remnants of a long ago past about which she knew little. She watched as the steel cable-like tendons in his forearm flexed and rolled, tightening and loosening, as he responded to the dizzying emotions radiating from his mate.

It was impossible to miss why he reacted as such, and it made her heart hammer a hard, pounding rhythm against her ribcage. Staring ahead into the silvery reflection of the mirror, lit by the soft glow of the instrument panel, her once best friend's eyes were again shadowed and dark, brimming with silent pain, and her child-like features were twisted into an ever-shifting mask of anxiety and dread, only interrupted by too-brief flickers of hope. As time wore on, Bella lost count of how many futures to which Alice bore witness, nearly all indisputably bleak.

Bella started when the cool pad of Edward's forefinger lightly drifted down her cheek, capturing a trailing tear she'd unknowingly shed. When she looked up, she wasn't sure what he saw, but he didn't speak. Instead, his eyes widened in alarm and he quickly pulled her across the leather bench until she was tucked tightly into his side, as if by holding her there so close, he could protect her from all harm. The moment their bodies connected, Bella sighed, as she felt the slight, responding give in his posture, the signal that his worry and stress matched her own and that, like hers, it could only be relieved by proximity and touch.

Without hesitation, Bella slipped her arm around his waist, hugging herself to him tighter still, and turned her face into the hard planes of his chest so that she could finally breathe. He smelled like comfort and home and _Edward_. Searching for the reassuring silence of his heart, her palm slid up his abdomen, stopping only to flatten against his breastbone. His lungs expanded beneath her and unconsciously, as if to soothe them both, his fingers threaded into her hair, slowly combing the long strands away from her face.

To him, the almost undetectable tremors that shook her frame were like a jackhammer, vibrating the very center of his being. What she felt, he felt, as surely as if they were physically one. The temptation to run and to hide her away from those who chased them was so strong, so overwhelming. It was instinctive, a primal, bone-deep need to remove her from danger and risk, to keep her alive at all cost, and it took every shred of his restraint to stop himself from ripping off the car door then and there, grabbing her, and bolting.

Edward had thought that path through a hundred times in so many minutes, yet he didn't act. For every time he considered retreat in any way, the gory visions that immediately swamped Alice's mind nearly stole his sanity. No matter their course, their chances were slim, still dependent on too many unmade decisions and changing minds to see; it was as though they were blindly walking a high wire with no balance bar.

He clenched his eyes shut and momentarily blocked himself from the horrors of Alice's second sight, focusing instead on the tangible, steady, and alive _rush-rush_ of Bella's heart valves opening and closing. He could feel her cadence filling, expanding, and rumbling inside the empty cavity of his chest, and when he breathed in, the sweet perfection of her perfume flooded his mouth and lungs. With each breath, he could taste his own scent, too, mingled with hers and painted on her skin in a visceral reminder of so few hours before.

But those too-few sacred minutes spent alone and inside of her were now past, and the reality of their situation loomed heavy and dark. Unwilling and incapable of lying to her now, Edward didn't tell his mate that everything would be fine or that they could win this war or that he could save her. And Bella didn't ask him to because she already knew the answer.

_St. Paul, 246 miles_, a sign read.

Those last hours of their journey stretched into what felt like days. Lost in her thoughts, still huddled into her vampire's side, Bella stared through the dark window, barely registering the blue-black blur of the passing countryside. Vaguely, at some point, she was aware of Alice's soft voice speaking into a phone to someone, perhaps Carlisle, and then a moment later, she heard Edward quietly, yet surely, respond to some unspoken thought from Jasper.

"It's her decision, not mine," Edward countered, his voice a low, angered growl that she could feel more than hear. "Don't you think that I've asked her that? Begged her, even, to let me hide her? She will have none of it, and I won't make her decisions for her, no matter what. _I can't_."

In his mind, Jasper sped through strategy after strategy, each paired with fleeting, brilliant glimpses of long-fought battles, of wars he'd won, of covens he'd destroyed. But nothing, not even the bloodbaths of the Newborn Wars had prepared him to face the power of Volturi royalty. And never before had a mortal been involved.

_I know you can't… I know what Alice sees … Esme could take her, or Rosalie… Demetri hasn't seen them. They could take her somewhere north or even better, south. Take her down to Mexico where the bastards can't hide behind the clouds. I know places they can go. Then we can deal with the Volturi… somehow… _

Softly, almost to himself, Edward murmured, "Don't think that I haven't thought of that. It's an option, of course, but there is considerable risk. I know the Volturi's tactics; I've led their hunts myself. The moment they detected her absence, they would split into two search parties, one with Jane and the other with Alec."

Immediately, Edward tensed as an image of Jane, smiling in all of her sadistic glory as she unleashed her vicious rage on Bella, rocked his mind. The pain of that single thought was consuming like no other. It was at once both crushing and tearing, poisoned daggers that twisted into his insides and threatened to send him into an instantaneous crazed and livid tailspin. That child-witch was unstoppable and she would destroy Bella simply because she could. No human could ever tolerate that level of suffering.

Feeling the abrupt spike of emotion, Jasper anxiously glanced into the rearview mirror, cataloguing the still-scarlet eyes of the vampire behind him. Wholly fixed to the slight woman in his arms, they were wild with barely concealed torment, visible evidence of the raging chaos that pummeled Jasper's emotional space. Edward was a towering mass of fear and fury, and he was on the cusp of reckless violence. Yet as Jasper watched him interact with Bella, he witnessed something else altogether.

As if she could hear his thoughts and feel Edward's agony, Bella squeezed his middle and shushed him in quiet whispers. The backs of her fingers, so soft and so yielding against his stone, skimmed the angled line of his jaw, gently stroking and soothing. Literally and figuratively, her touch was a buzzing, consuming warmth that bled directly into him, burrowing through the ice and sinking deep beneath his skin. Somehow, it lifted the anvil from his chest and pried the daggers away. Swallowing and willing himself to remain in the here and now, Edward shook his head to clear it and, with a calmness that belied his internal war, he took her hand in his.

Slowly, softly, he kissed the cushiony pad of each one of Bella's fingers and then dragged his mouth down her palm to the inside of her wrist. Inhaling deeply, he brushed his lips back and forth over the faint, blue lines of flowing blood, his eyes never leaving her face and the blinding affection written there. _Once… twice… three times, _he kissed her wrist, and then a fourth. With each lingering pass, he silently bargained, pleading for God to shield her from Jane.

A moment later, still shaky but no longer reeling, Edward unnecessarily cleared his throat and continued, his arms involuntarily tightening around Bella's fragile shoulders as he spoke. "I've seen your Esme and Rosalie. They would have no chance against either one… Not that I have much better… But apart, I'd have no way whatsoever of protecting her. She would be alone and exposed.

"I've learned my lesson, Jasper Whitlock. The last time she was alone…" Edward flinched, seeing Bella lying limp, bruised, and bloody in the darkness of that warehouse in New York. "I will _never_ leave her like that again…"

_But she'll be vulnerable for three days, Edward. Do we really have that kind of time?_

Edward glanced at Alice's lifeless eyes, black as night in the shine of the reflection, as she mutely searched the future. Behind them, the same battling images still flitted, almost impenetrable and undecipherable in their speed and meaning.

"I don't know."

**~.~.~**

"Where are they?"

As if in answer to her query, a cool yet humid wind whipped across the open field and rattled the head-high stalks of corn. In its wake, a hundred scents washed across his face and a hundred flavors touched his tongue. Saturated from the light drizzle, the air tasted of diesel exhaust and of earth – of the long-needled pines to the west, sundried cornhusks from the season's harvest, and the damp, tilled soil at his feet.

In some kind of purposeful insubordination, Demetri said nothing and instead slowly scanned the gradually lightening horizon, following the dark line of trees to where it disappeared below the curve of the earth. Far above, the sky was still inky and dark, and the moon, pale and small, lingered behind black clouds. Yet nothing was hidden from his sight. For a long moment, he watched the leaves rustle and dance, delaying as much as he dared. Somewhere in the distance, the sputtering crank of an ancient combine broke the stillness, the only signal that those few humans who claimed this area were now waking.

"Well?" Jane snapped her question like a bullwhip this time, irritated by his lack of response and his refusal to meet her gaze. The tracker was wasting time, and by her estimation, they had dawdled long enough. By the scents still lingering in the farmhouse behind them, Edward and his toy had been gone only hours.

When Jane's brows folded and her lips pursed, Demetri was only mildly surprised that he didn't feel the strike of her _gift_ in prodding. While outwardly unaffected and still as motionless as stone, secretly he flinched and shrank away, instantly recalling the prelude to his second, private questioning and the intense, burning agony that he had endured at Aro's and Caius's behest. Trapped beneath her glare for what had felt like days, his bones had melted inside of his body and his skin had bubbled and charred. Jane _always_ meted out more than Aro commanded.

Now, away from the Masters' authority, there was little question that the presence of their fellow guard members, six of them in all, including her witch-twin of a brother, was his only protection from further wrath. He had been disgraced by egregious failure and by the destruction of their fellow guard, and at least according to Jane, and perhaps as well as the others, Demetri's position was only slightly above that of those they hunted.

Evenly, unwilling to cower to their judgment, he stared at the vengeful child's face. "Patience, _sister_." His lips twisted down at the address. "They are moving… And quickly, too."

Jane bit back a growl at his tone. All too tempting, white-hot pulses of unleashed pain thrashed and crackled in her mind, waiting for outlet and direction, begging to be loosed upon him. Restraint had never been her forte, and she resented that it was now necessary. Demetri was lucky – fortunate that Aro still found use for him – otherwise he would be on the ground writhing before her and screaming for mercy.

"Which way?"

Closing his eyes and drifting away from those too recent memories, Demetri focused on the faint, ever-present tickle of awareness. _Three_ tickles – one, a hundred years present in his mind, the other two, only days. They glowed in pale, white pulses, three tiny stars amongst constellations of others, but even amongst so many, each point was as individual as a human fingerprint, impossible to mistake, confuse, or lose over time or space. Despite the distance, he knew these vampires' rough location and he could sense their movement – three gentle tugs that subtly pulled his body to track and to follow.

_Three of them…_

When he opened his eyes, ruby irises flashed to midnight, and Demetri huffed in something resembling indignation. That he couldn't see the _fourth_ print vexed him, a slap to the face, because there was no doubt whatsoever that the _girl_ was alive and that she was with their former guard member. Never, not since the dawn of his awakening, had his talent been thwarted. Not even Renata, Aro's own personal shield and protector, could hide from him. That this anomaly was a _human, _nothing – lowly cattle – infuriated him, even as twinges of intrigue surfaced.

"North and west," he finally answered.

From behind them, a quiet voice interrupted. While commanding in its authority, its baritone was soft, melodic, and lyrical in its cadence, a long since forgotten blend of Old Europe and desert tongues.

"How far, Demetri?"

When Demetri shifted, a dark-haired vampire silently stepped away from Alec and Chelsea. In no hurry at all, almost as if out for an evening stroll, he waded through the tall grass, the dark tail of his cloak billowing behind him and snapping in the wind.

That Eleazar was with them spoke volumes.

It had been decades since Aro's _scout_ had last led the Guard in pursuit. Before, their mission had been simple: kill the nosy human girl and bring Edward back to face punishment for his betrayal. Now… now after Aro's inquisition, the situation was far more complex and far more dangerous. The girl's life was meaningless, still forfeit. But now Edward was to be brought to heel and destroyed on sight. For he was no longer the prize; they hunted others.

Beside him, Jane clucked her tongue, and a memory flashed, an instant in time buried deep within the bowels of the Keep in a small, shadowy chamber lit only by a single oil lamp. Demetri was on his knees, his robes pushed back over his shoulders. In supplication, his head was bowed before two of his Masters, resigned and waiting for the execution that never came.

_Cool and damp, the air was almost tacky against his skin. Untouched for centuries, it was rank with mildew and age, yet the cloying sweetness of vampire overwhelmed all else. _

"_Touch my hand, Demetrios," Aro crooned. _

_Obediently, Demetri extended his hand, pressing his palm to Aro's, and waited as the memories flowed like water from his mind. At contact, his Master smiled and his crimson eyes slid shut in concentration. Shimmering in the flickering light, the thin membranes of his eyelids fluttered. _

_With each passing second, Aro's grip tightened, cinching until a loud snap shattered the silence of the room, bouncing off the cold stone walls, as Demetri's bones began to break and to pulverize. His teeth gnashed and bit down on his tongue, unwilling to call out or pull away, loathe to show weakness. Instead, Demetri stilled, accepting whatever fate Aro demanded. The eldest of the Guard, he knew that it was his Master's right to destroy him for his failure. He was no different, a servant to their whim. _

"_It's true…" Aro finally hissed. His eyes opened, no longer scarlet, but the darkest oxblood in hue, ablaze and dancing with greed and hunger. It was in the upturn of his papery lips, too, and in the plotting washing motion of his hands. _

"_Aro…" Caius seethed, as always impatient. His shock of white hair trembled, and the tension rolled like waves across the space. "What of Edward…"_

"_What of him? He will be brought back here," Aro spat, interrupting. There was a rush of air and the rustle of fabric as he spun around. Low and deathly calm, a viper before the strike, he growled, "We will take certain precautions, of course. No one else need be bothered. There will be no audience to his arrival."_

_"You are a fool! Your arrogance knows no bounds!" Caius roared. His fist fell like a heavy adze and splintered an oaken table. Shards of wood, gray with age, flew, exploding and raining down on the floor below. His angered gaze darted to Demetri and then back again to Aro. "We will have the Guard take him down and burn him there. He is no longer needed if what you say is true… You play with fire, Aro, and you risk us both. I will not allow it!"_

_"You will not allow what, brother?" Aro snarled, biting each syllable. "We agreed already. Have you forgotten so quickly?"_

_"It's different now, and you know it. He will know..."_

_"He will not. There is no need. It will be taken care of."_

_A private war of power and dominance waged between the glowering vampires above him. It was, one of silent, cursing accusations and vague hissing threats. Minutes passed between spoken words. Yet at some point, some phrase was uttered and the atmosphere shifted. It thickened and electrified, as if the air itself could ignite._

_For Demetri, it was a… familiar sensation. A thousand times, he'd felt this tension, but never once here, not amongst the Volturi or the Masters. In Aro's voice, Demetri now heard a certain thorny wariness or trepidation, hidden and barely recognizable behind the bravado. Yet it was there. When Demetri dared to lift his face, that same fear was mirrored in the angry lines of Caius's scowl._

_Aro's smile turned dour, despising acquiescence. "As you wish, Caius."_

_"Then we are agreed?"_

_"Yes, fine," Aro snapped. The heels of his shoes popped angrily against the stone as he stalked toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Make the arrangements… Send however many you see fit to take care of the issue."_

_Stunned, still on his knees and eyes averted, Demetri stared at the pockmarked limestone beneath him, his gaze trained to the minuscule cracks and crevices. In his periphery, the shadow of a hand drifted near his head, and then he suddenly felt the weight of Caius's palm on the top of his skull and long fingers raking through his hair with father-like warmth._

_"Demetrios, there will be no more failures. Do you understand?"_

With a shake of his head, Demetri's attention snapped back to the present and to the olive-skinned vampire appraising him and waiting for his answer. Nodding, he turned inward, weighing and assessing the intensity of Edward's print.

"No more than four hundred kilometers, Eleazar. Likely moving toward Minnesota."

Looking out across the field, Eleazar's expression remained carefully neutral, giving away nothing, even though he already suspected where Edward and the other two vampires were going. Softly, he asked, "Where is Carlisle Cullen? You can track him as well, correct?"

Not anticipating this line of questioning, Demetri's brows pinched in some mix of concentration and confusion. "Of course. He is…" He paused, considering and focusing on the centuries-old stamp belonging to the fair-haired vampire with strange, tawny eyes. It had been three hundred years since they had shared the same room. "They're moving toward him. Why?"

Eleazar's lips settled into a grim, determined line. "From what I understand, the two other targets belong to Cullen. His coven is… not small…" The implication was impossible to miss.

Before Demetri could question further, cool air brushed across his skin, and Alec was abruptly there beside them, his face instantly alight with amusement and intrigue. The boy's teeth flashed bright white. "So, a fight then?"

"We're to get rid of that damnable girl and Edward and then to collect our targets. Nothing more. Carlisle Cullen and the others are not to be touched," Eleazar quietly warned, his eyes never leaving the distant horizon. But there was an anticipatory edge to his voice and words, mimicked in the taut ripple of his shoulders.

A high, tinkling laugh interrupted, slicing through the stillness. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Jane's cherubic lips turned up into a wicked smile, and she purred, "Unless they fight back."

**~.~.~**

In the mid-morning muted light, they formed a row of silent statues, each as pale as virgin snow and each frozen in time and in place. In a moment resembling more dream than reality, four familiar faces and four pairs of honey-colored eyes, ones that had haunted her for so many years, now stared back at her, no more than twenty feet away, quietly waiting.

Just as it had been with Alice the night before, her vampires were tentative and unsure, none seeming to know what to say, what to do, or where to begin – not even Carlisle. Bella wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't this – an anticlimax of sorts filled with hushed tension and faltering gazes. Perhaps she had envisioned broken, heartfelt apologies, or maybe even chastising anger that she had sought them out. Perhaps she had even hoped for that, an outburst that matched what she'd felt, a sign that it hadn't been all one-sided. Instead, _this_ – this unfamiliarity and awkwardness – twisted her stomach and made her heart thud a disjointed, nervous rhythm.

So many words flew to her mind, tempting her tongue, but none felt right, and in that instant, finally _here_, Bella was simply… _tired_ – tired of running and being afraid, tired of thinking, tired of missing, and _so_ tired of being angry over actions that lived in the past. Especially now, when time was short and borrowed.

"Isabella?" Edward murmured, soft and velvety in her ear. Beside her, he stood, rigid and tense, his body angled ever so slightly between her and her Cullens. In the dip of her lower back, his hand splayed out, lightly pressing, yet infinitely strong and secure. She didn't have to look up to know what expression he wore. Behind that mask of trained, glacial calm would lay barely controlled instinctual violence. Where she might forgive them, in his unchanging vampire nature, Edward never would. Not completely. But like her, too, he was resigned, knowing that coming here was their best chance at survival.

"It's fine," she whispered, leaning closer and taking his hand in hers.

The moment they touched, thoughts screamed through his mind, loud and impossible to ignore. Incredulity, shock, anger, confusion, and alarm all assaulted him as they took in the undeniable, inexplicable warmth and intimacy between vampire and human. Despite Alice's warnings, all they saw was the lethal hand of the Volturi Guard who had interrogated them weeks ago now clasped in that of the fragile, wide-eyed teenaged girl they had left in Forks in their misguided efforts to protect. The large one – _Emmett_ – Edward knew, was on the verge of launching himself across the few feet between them, forcing restraint only out of fear of hurting Bella in the process. Grudgingly, on some level, Edward could respect that.

Another minute passed by. Beneath her shifting feet, gravel crunched, the only sound beyond that of the quiet inhale and exhale of her breathing.

Then two minutes passed. Then three, and nothing changed to break their standstill.

Yet something _did_ change.

With each passing second, disappointment slowly washed away, replaced by profound understanding. Because in their hesitance, Bella realized that so much more was revealed. When she looked carefully, their uneasy silence said everything all at once – fear, regret, remorse, and shame, all snarled up with relief and maybe even a hint of joy. It was there in the mashed line of Rosalie's lips and in the uncharacteristic slump of Emmett's massive shoulders. It was in Carlisle's quiet, contemplative stare and in the slender hand covering Esme's mouth to hide the evidence of her emotion.

Wordlessly, Bella released Edward's hand and slowly stepped forward. When he stiffened, she turned.

"Edward?" His eyes roamed her face, searching. Bella smiled in answer, just a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth. "Give me just a minute, okay? And then we'll…you'll…"

He heard the words she didn't say as if she'd shouted them. "Anything you need," he murmured, reluctantly backing away to stand beside Jasper and Alice.

She went to Esme first, stopping less than an arm's length away from the slight woman she'd once considered her surrogate mother. Unchanged by time, she was as beautiful now as she was then, even in her sadness. Framed by caramel waves, her face was heart-shaped and timeless, a Hollywood screen siren from a bygone era.

"Bella-" Esme whispered. Watching Bella's brow crease sharply at the mere sound of her name, she abruptly stopped. Without thinking, incapable and unwilling to stand there any longer, she reached out and wrapped her arms around the small, human girl she'd loved for so long.

It was as though a switch was thrown, granting permission. Immediately, Bella's knees buckled and she collapsed into Esme's embrace, limp as a rag doll and holding onto her vampire mother as if the earth had fallen away. Behind a curtain of overwhelmed tears, everything blurred, and they were both trembling.

"Oh, Bella," Esme cried. "I'm sorry."

Not pulling away, but instead squeezing tighter still and burying her face in the dark fabric of Esme's blouse, Bella finally answered, "It's okay… It will be."

Like a flood, words poured out. "We missed you. _I_ missed you… so much. I never stopped loving you. Ever."

"I know… now," Bella replied, replaying every moment of her and Alice's conversation. Tightening until she could hardly breathe, her airways constricted. "Alice explained…"

"I should have-"

Understanding her need for closure and space, Edward maintained his silent vigil, carefully watching as Bella slowly drifted from vampire to vampire. Saying nothing, she hugged Rosalie fiercely, latching her slender arms around the blonde's neck as if she were forcing her anger and bitterness away through physical exertion alone. They stood like that for minutes, neither moving, yet as time wore on, he could hear the cadence of Bella's heart finally slowing, her stress leaching away.

Moments later, with a cocked eyebrow and a playful smile, she leapt at Emmett. As he lifted Bella up and swung her around, Edward's stillness cracked, but the rare sound of her laughter stopped him from intervening. It was high and happy, and the sound of even a second of joy spilling from her lips made his chest feel like it was swelling.

_Is it true, Edward? _a soft tenor asked, pulling Edward's attention away. When his eyes met Carlisle's, an image of him and Bella reflected back at him, colored in bewilderment and disbelief, and a volley of half-articulated questions followed. _She's your singer? How did you resist… the control and restraint… And she's… your mate? Alice said… she wants you to turn her… that it may be the only way to keep her… you both alive… Does it have to be that way?_

Edward's gaze once again found Bella. Every cell in his body seemed aware of her, of every step, of every expression, of every thump of her heart. She was buried in the very foundation of his being, settled into every corner of his stone self.

Without looking back to the fair-haired vampire to his right, he nodded, a curt affirmative to it all:

_Yes, she is my singer, but I resisted drinking her. _

_Yes, for her, I abandoned my masters and I killed my brother._

_Yes, because I love her, I will kill her and grant her immortality. _

_And yes, if you try to stop me, I'll destroy you. _

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Minor details concerning Eleazar: **In departure from canon, in this fic, Eleazar is still with the Volturi. He's their talent scout, if you will, and he retains his canon gift of detecting the talents in others.

As far as his background goes, this is another character, like Didyme, with whom I find myself somewhat at odds with SM. According to the Lexicon, Eleazar was originally from Spain and was turned at some point around 1600-1700. I take a bit of issue with this as the name is really Hebrew / Jewish. While certainly, historically, there was a large Jewish community in and around Spain, it was pretty much wiped out / driven away in or before 1492. Those that remained were largely "Christianized".

Because I'm a tad obsessive, I needed to fix that little oversight… at least in my mind, lol. So in this story, Eleazar is still from Spain but he is originally of Spanish-Jewish decent, and he's older. He was turned during the Massacre of 1391 in Seville. Regarding his accent / language(s), as vaguely referenced in the above chapter, he would have likely spoken an Andaluz dialect of Old Castilian, as well as an old variant of Judaeo-Spanish, mainly derived from Old Castilian, Hebrew, and Aramaic.


	21. Out of Time

**Out of Time**

* * *

_She_ was all that he could hear.

The voices of the others, now more than a mile away in an attempt to give them privacy, were nothing more than faint whispers, tickles of barely-formed images and unspoken fears. They could have been in the living room just below. It wouldn't have mattered, for _she_ drowned out all else.

For what could have been either a century or only seconds, his palm rested between Bella's breasts, flat over the thin fabric of her shirt against her sternum so that he could feel – so that he could _memorize_ – the echoing hammer of her heartbeat for the last time. Now, finally alone and no longer distracted by bittersweet reunion, it was again racing, giving away the fear she steadfastly refused to voice. A visceral reminder of her human fragility and mortality, those too-quick thumps pummeled him inside and out, shattering any hope of calm.

Shuddering against the onslaught, Edward stared past her to the darkening window and inhaled. As always, the decadent perfume of her blood that saturated the air flooded his nostrils and lungs, igniting the low, reassuring burn that guaranteed her existence. This time, however, on his tongue and coating the inside of his mouth, there was an accompanying spike of tangy adrenaline. It tasted sour and so very, very _wrong_.

But then, everything about this was wrong. It was against all of the instincts now etched in both his psyche and his bones – the ones that told him to protect her no matter the cost or consequence – and his entire being recoiled, demanding that he stop this path at once.

"I trust you," Bella whispered, as she pushed her fingers through wild autumn-colored strands, lightly running her nails along his scalp to wrest him away from his abstraction. When Edward's eyes finally turned back to hers, ancient, dark, and filled with unveiled conflict, she reached for his hand. "You won't hurt me."

There was a surprised punch of cool air against her skin, and in its wake, her skin pebbled in recognition. Slowly – so very slowly – Edward wound his steel fingers between her supple ones and drew her hand to his mouth. Hesitantly, just as he'd done the night before, his lips trailed from her wrist up the inside of her arm, following the web of pale blue veins. Over and over, he repeated his slow circuit, only stopping so that he could press his tongue to the tender flesh at the inside of her elbow, caressing with the deep-seeded reverence reserved only for mated halves.

As if he were in physical pain, Edward's brow sharply folded and his features abruptly crumpled with biting severity. He looked up at her again, those ancient eyes now depthless and forlorn, and softly, he murmured against her skin. "Yes… Yes, I will."

"No-"

"Yes, Isabella," Edward interrupted, instantly grimacing at the recalled fire and agony of transformation. "That's exactly what I'm going to do. It will hurt like nothing else…" He blanched, clutching her hand as if he feared she would run. "You will hate me for doing this to you."

The backs of Bella's fingers found his face and began drawing the hard, rolling line of his jaw to soothe them both. Blind, heart-stopping conviction rang in her voice. "No, Edward. I'll love you more."

"I wish that I could take this pain from you," Edward answered, even as he leaned into the warmth of her touch.

"Stop stalling," Bella murmured, tugging him down until the inches between them became none. Against his lips, she smiled and then fitted her mouth to his, kissing him firmly and wetly, sweeping her tongue against his until he shivered and framed her hips with his hands, pressing her down into the mattress.

His breath fanned out across her face, candy sweet, and his nose slid down her cheek to her chin and then to the crook of her neck, hovering just above her pulse point. With a soft, anguished groan, Edward kissed her there, licking and gently sucking the line of her carotid, feeling the jarring strike of her pulse against his lips.

"Here?" he spoke, his voice low and the softest velvet.

"No,_ here_." Bella grabbed his hand from her hip and guided it beneath her shirt, placing it over the swell of her left breast.

Edward's lips parted, although no sound came out. But then her skin registered a gust of air as a cloud of white cotton peeled over her head, momentarily hiding him from her view and leaving her bare. When she saw his face again, still furrowed and discontent, he was staring down at her – at the very place she had placed his palm – as if he could see the pumping valves of her heart beneath her flesh.

Bella took a deep breath – a last breath – to steady her nerves. Smiling again for herself as much as for him, she kissed the tips of his fingers and winked. "Now, bite me."

Edward closed his eyes as he leaned forward, nestling his nose between her breasts, smelling perfume and sweetness and the unmatched perfection of both his singer and mate.

"I love you," he whispered, opening his mouth against her skin. "May God forgive me."

**~.~.~**

It happened so fast that he _almost_ missed it.

Teeth poised to puncture, splintering the quiet blackness behind his lids, the moment Edward made his final decision, there was a sudden flash of color, and a bark of high-pitched mental distress rattled his head. Too distant to discern, the image was blurry and misshapen, disguising what could only be a pale, bone white face. The accompanying words in his ears were garbled and incomplete, more stark emotion than coherent thought.

As quickly as the image appeared, it vanished. But its presence was enough to arrest the downward path of his teeth, and instantly, Edward jerked upright. His head swiveled toward the window, his eyes scanning the darkness – _listening_.

"What's wrong?" Bella breathed, her heart slamming into her chest. Her stomach lurched and her nails clawed mattress below, searching for any kind of grounding.

Edward neither answered nor moved, frozen in intense concentration. Never before, not even in those first days, had she seen him so still or so lifeless. Muscles locked, ready to spring, features furrowed and sharp, and eyes now black as soot, Edward was more statue than man or being. His stillness terrified her, and her thoughts automatically spun out, expecting the worst.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow down, the seconds passing like minutes, as if time itself were grinding to a halt. The tick of the clock pounded like a drum, and the air in the room seemed to heat and thicken. With each ragged breath, it scraped down her throat like sandpaper.

_Edward! _

The call of his name rang inside his mind, frantically repeating in Alice's piercing, desperate voice. Vaguely, through her now-tawny eyes, Edward caught glimpses of her running from her kill, racing through a thick grove of trees, flying across the high grass at a speed that only he himself could surpass. Driven by pure fear, each repetition of his name grew in volume and in clarity until she was finally close enough for him to really see and hear.

_On the bed, Bella trembled beneath the force and fire of transformation… A line of drying blood trailed across her middle, following the lower curve of her breast and sliding down her ribs where it spotted the cream sheets crimson… Her eyes were closed and she cried for him, soft, tortured moans spilling from her lips… Thumping loudly in the room, Bella's heartbeat was now slowing, and the liquid that flowed through her shriveling veins was turning viscous, impossible for her heart to pump._

_Bella cried out again, blindly seeking comfort that would never come._

_For she was alone… _

_Outside the white farmhouse, they were seven against six, the Cullens and Edward against the fearsome might of the Volturi… Glistening in the light of the early morning sun, separated by no more than two hundred meters, they silently faced off, waiting… Waiting for one to make the first move and break formation… Waiting for war to begin… Yet for all the posturing and bared teeth, all knew who would ultimately prevail. Theirs was a futile fight…_

_In the middle of the wide, grassy lawn, Eleazar and Carlisle softly spoke, seeking some kind of truce… _

"_I can't let you take them…"_

"_Carlisle, you must hand over the girl and Edward… She is beyond your protection, and Edward belongs to us… His fate is for the Masters to decide…"_

_Eleazar trailed off and stared over the blond vampire's shoulder, his focus trained to Alice and Jasper. "The two gifted ones must come with us, as well, but I swear to you upon my own ashes that no harm shall come to them… Aro wishes to meet them and perhaps extend an invitation, that is all… If you do not protest, it has been decreed that you, your mate, and the rest of your coven will pardoned."_

_Carlisle opened his mouth to speak, but he was silenced by a dismissive wave of Eleazar's hand. "Do not fight us, Carlisle… Please… You know that you will lose… I wish to destroy you no more than Aro. Your years in Volterra are still looked upon fondly. So, please, I ask again that you do not press us." Eleazar's scarlet gaze drifted to Edward. Softer, he added, "Ask Edward if you fail to recall. He will tell you of our power… He knows of what we can do… what we _will_ do."_

"_Eleazar, it doesn't matter. You know that I can't just turn away…"_

_The two vampires' eyes locked for a long moment, a pregnant pause that seemed to echo in the shallow valley. When Carlisle made no move to submit, Eleazar sighed in discontent before looking away and slowly nodding to Alec. "Very well, my old friend. You leave us no choice…"_

_An invisible, numbing curtain began to fall. Edward recognized it immediately – the split second that Eleazar had given his command – and he raced across the yard, targeting the dark-haired boy. _

_But it was too late; everything was too late. For just as his foot crossed the midpoint between their battle lines, blackness claimed them all. _

Edward blinked and violently shook his head, fighting the future that he feared the most, not wanting to see what followed. But he was powerless now, stuck in the scenes that Alice's mind all but screamed, barely registering the slap of the screen door below and the strike of her feet on the stairs.

The final image, more definitive than anything he'd ever witnessed from Alice's fickle talent, flickered, shaking him to the core. A loud, keening sob rumbled through his chest, and there was the crack of splintering wood when his knees hit the floor.

_On the lawn, seven piles of ash burned bright, and curls of smoke spiraled into the sky, plum-black against the white, cottony clouds. Five vampires, still cloaked in black, stood watching, untouched and tasting the sickening sweetness of burning flesh and obliteration… _

_Inside, the sixth, her cherubic lips curved upward and smiling in sadistic delight, stood over Bella's helpless, quivering body…_

The door swung wide and slammed into the wall, its hinges instantly mangled and broken from the force of the diminutive vampire behind it. Wooden splinters rained inward, heralding the blur of white that shot through the doorframe. Bella flinched, but before she could voice her fear, Alice shrieked, "Stop!" even though the warning was no longer necessary.

Hot, frightened tears streaked down Bella's cheeks as she watched Edward's frozen form, now oblivious to Alice's presence, slowly begin to fold in anguished defeat, tilting forward until his forehead rested on the mattress beside her.

_No!_ she cried.

It felt as though she were screaming even as her words came out as nothing more than hoarse pants of air that burned her throat. "Alice! What the hell is going on?"

"It's too late," Alice whispered. "He can't change you. There's no time. They'll ki-… he can't…"

Bella's hand trembled as it approached Edward's bowed head. He jerked when she touched him and she watched his fist sink through the thick fabric of the mattress in barely contained rage. Metal springs groaned and popped beneath her.

Swallowing around the thick lump in her throat, Bella inhaled a shaky, shallow breath.

"When?"

Pale, honey-colored eyes slowly rose to meet dark sable ones.

"They'll be here at dawn."

**~.~.~**

It was an image unchanged from the night. Despite all of their plotting, pleas, and efforts, as Alice had foretold, six vampires arrived just as the morning sun broke the horizon. Ever ones for pageantry and show, the Volturi guards – once his brothers, now his enemies – walked abreast, floating across the high grass. Shadowed against the sun's stretching rays, their sweeping cloaks were as black as night, and with their cowls pulled low over pale white features and crimson eyes, they were the hands of Death himself.

Their own line was still as stone, watching and waiting for the inevitable.

To his left and to his right, the Cullens fanned out, forming a wall of strength, solidarity, and determination. Each knew that in standing beside him, in standing to protect Bella, the girl they had claimed as family, they knowingly condemned themselves. Dread wound through their thoughts, making their fists curl and their stomachs plummet, but none departed. Their decisions had been made, and outwardly, their message was clear.

There was but one intention today: to hold the Volturi at bay, to keep them as far from the farmhouse as possible in hopes that her heartbeat wouldn't reach their ears. Where the Cullens and Edward differed in strategy and opinion and where there was no small amount of distrust between them, that much they had all agreed upon the second Bella's eyes had finally closed from exhaustion: her life outweighed all else.

_Edward?_ Jasper called. Fresh from hunting, his eyes were bright and the palest honey, yet his mind was dark and ablaze with the memories of his long-left past. When he inhaled, instead of pine and freshly tilled earth, Jasper smelled the dry dust of the high desert and the sickeningly sweet stench of charred vampire flesh. Coiled like a bullwhip, he flexed his _talent, _ready to release and crack it in ways he hadn't used in one and a half centuries. The same gift that soothed could cripple.

_The small one there on the right is Jane, correct? How many of us can she burn at once? _

Edward softly answered, "Only one at a time…" He could see the direction of Jasper's thoughts. "But it doesn't matter."

Their eyes met briefly. _What do you mean? _

"Alec. If any time is given, he can take us all down at once, and you won't even realize it. You won't reach him in time. You'll only see black. You'll see nothing. You'll hear nothing. You won't even feel it when Demetri takes your head and lights the match."

_Is that what Alice sees? If we attack, that's what happens? I know that she's not telling me something._

Edward nodded slowly, his gaze sliding from Jasper to the small, dark-haired futureteller by his side. He didn't voice the other scenario, the scene that had appeared in the still of the night when Bella slept on his chest – the outcome Alice hid from all but him.

_Unless Edward can force them to take hi__m first. Then there is a chance that she will survive, that they won't search for her… If he can convince them before…_

The Volturi line halted two hundred meters away. Their robes billowed in the wind, carrying toward him scents of olive groves, of Volterra, and of his Masters. Edward smelled malevolence, and a choir of familiar voices chimed inside of his mind.

_Traitor! I'll burn you myself, Edward! Then I'll drink your little human toy… I'll make her suffer… Scream for days… She'll curse you and beg me to finish her… She'll beg to be drained…_

Edward flinched and his teeth snapped in instantaneous, icy fury. The words crackled and burned through his thoughts, far more painful than the probing jabs of sharp, needle-like pain she launched behind them. Decades of harbored jealousy and resentment – for his unexpected arrival a century ago, for his lineage, for his mind reading, for his mere existence – flowed through her mind, blinding her to all else.

Yet he dared not move, for Edward knew that the child-witch was baiting him, teasing and taunting him into livid response. It was exactly what Jane wanted. A fight.

_They've always been too lenient with him…_ Beside Demetri, Chelsea shook her head, dropping her cowl to her shoulders. Across the distance, centuries old, blood-red eyes regarded him with confusion colored by disdain. _Just because he was the first made since…_

_A shame…_

_A waste…_

_Ungrateful…_ Santiago, Caius's trainer and battle master, made no attempts in hiding his thoughts. _How many have coveted and vied for that which he was freely given… Without merit… He turns his back on the Masters… on his own kind… Let us kill him now and be done with it…_

Cool, unruffled by the scene at hand, Eleazar stepped forward and stared across the open field, taking in the line of unseasoned and untrained vampires flanking his Masters' former prince. It was an uneven match in every way. Out of seven, there were truly but two who posed risk – Edward, of course, and the battle-trained empath. The others were of little consequence against their might.

_I know that you hear me…_ Eleazar began. _Don't fight us, Edward… The Cullens need not be involved. Aro will make an offer to two – the futureteller and her mate, but it's merely that. An offer that they may decline once in Volterra._

_But now we come for you and for the girl, as you knew that we would. You know as well as I do that your fate was forfeit the moment you broke rank… This has gone on long enough… Come quietly…_

When Edward made no attempt in response, Eleazar's head tilted – imploring – and he added, _I can make sure that your human dies quickly and painlessly. Have you no worry of Jane or the others; I'll handle it myself… Where is she?_

Beside him, unknowing of Eleazar's silent entreaties, Carlisle's shoulders tensed, his eyes cast to those of his mate, and hesitantly, he made to speak and break the silence… Just as he had in Alice's first vision, the one that halted the press of Edward's teeth and denied his mate immortality – the one in which all had perished in a black rain of hellfire and ash.

"She's not here, Eleazar," Edward called abruptly, pushing Carlisle aside as he began slowly walking toward the Volturi line.

Stunned silence fell behind him, for this was not as they had agreed. In Edward's periphery, the big vampire – Emmett – jerked forward as if to intervene but stopped when his blonde mate grabbed him by the elbow. The cable-like muscles of his shoulders and forearms rippled in angered restraint. _What are you doing, Edward?_ In his mind, he saw gruesome fighting and the breaking of vampire flesh. Other voices clamored, asking the same.

Edward waved his hand to silence them and nodded to Alice.

_Are you certain?_ she whispered, even though she knew his answer.

Each step through the thick, dew-laden grass felt as though he were wading through concrete, weighted and wrong, headed toward his gallows. All sound, from the brush of the swaying blades to the trills of the birds hiding in the nearby trees, seemed to fade away, lost to the thunder of the heartbeat that resided forever in his mind.

When Edward inhaled, it was Bella he smelled. On his skin, on his tongue, flooding his lungs and chest, her scent drove him forward. As if she were right there, he could feel the delicate pressure of her body as she'd lain against his side, clinging to him through the night, and instead of the vampires before him, Edward saw her lips forming the sacred words that made her his.

He stopped no more than fifty feet away, waiting – hoping that God would grant him one request in exchange for everything he possessed.

She would live. All else be damned, Bella would live. Instinctively, just as it had been when he believed her lost, Edward's eyes closed and his lips parted, silently breathing the beseeching prayers of his human mother, "_Domine, non sum dignus… Domine, exaudi orationem meam. Esto, turris fortitudinis a facie inimici. Et filius iniquitatis non apponat nocere eam. Domine placere protege eam…"_

Bemused by both Edward's admission and his too-calm approach, Eleazar glanced to Demetri. His brows lifted in unspoken question.

"No, I don't sense her at all," Demetri muttered, inwardly seeking the glowing print that he knew would be absent. "I couldn't before, so I can't tell you if he lies."

The tall, olive skinned vampire frowned. _I'm no fool, Edward, _he murmured, his accent rolling and thick._ I know that you're somehow thwarting Demetri. Or that he lies for you. Have them bring out the girl and come with us. The time for these games has passed. _

"She's dead," Edward answered softly. The very word threatened to unhinge him, yet he forced it past his teeth.

Shock raced down _both_ vampire lines and rendered the voices inside his mind silent.

A second and then another passed before a low snarl, incredulous and angered, screamed through the silence. _You lie! _

Slowly, Edward turned to Jane, unafraid and unyielding. Like Chelsea, her dark cowl now draped across her narrow shoulders. Her crimson eyes were blazing, and unveiled malice riddled her tone.

_You're mad if you believe we accept that as truth. Demetri saw. He spoke of your attach– _

"I killed her."

Before Jane could voice her accusation aloud, Alec exhaled, a short sound of mingled amusement and irritation. "Why did it take you so long, _brother?_ Explain yourself so that we might understand."

Lifting his chin, glaring at the black-haired boy, Edward growled, "Does it matter? She's _dead_." His knuckles cracked beneath the force of his fist. "And I am here, before you, offering myself in quiet surrender. Do what you must and then go. Leave this coven be. There is nothing else for you here."

"I still smell her on you," Eleazar interrupted. His stare was piercing, searching for the lie.

"Of course, you do," Edward spat. "The _girl_ was my singer_… la mia cantante… con il suo sangue perfetto_." His tongue lingered, caressing those final syllables, and then he paused, waiting for the weight of that name to descend. "I kept her as long as possible. You would have done the same. Now let's be done with this. You're here to take me down. Now do it."

"Such restraint…The Masters would be impressed," Eleazar mused. "How do I know that you speak the truth?"

Impatient for this to be done – for them to _leave_ – Edward growled again, "I'm here, aren't I? I'm not running. I know my penance."

"Yes, yes, you are here. Why _are_ you _here_, Edward? With these Cullens?"

Edward gambled, cocking a brow with feigned arrogance and surety. "Marcus didn't tell you?"

Six Volturi guards eyed him in utter disbelief. _Aro_, Eleazar knew had sent him. But he knew nothing of their other Master. It was unheard of.

"I was to query Carl–"

"Enough! Demetri, see to the _traitor_," Jane screeched. Full of fire and wrath, she glared past his shoulder to the wall of golden-eyed Cullens. "Empath! Futureteller! Come here now or your entire coven will be destroyed."

"Jane," Eleazar warned.

"Enough with this, Eleazar." Jane clucked her tongue and sent an exampling bloom of fire to his mind. "I grow weary of all of this _talking_. Kill him as you've been ordered. Or _I_ will."

Shaken by the scene on the lawn, Alice clutched Jasper's hand, as other visions swirled past her eyes, overlapping and blending with reality. The voices around them vanished. Emmett's angry protests, Rose's heated muttering, Carlisle's attempts at civilized logic, and Esme's soft cries – they all disappeared.

"Jasper," Alice murmured. Her singsong soprano was low, shaking, and it held a desperation Jasper had never heard before. "Stay… stay here. They will accept it if just I go. I can convince them. I've seen it."

Jasper closed his eyes, reining in the violence that boiled beneath, because he knew that there was more behind her words, more things she didn't want him to know. She'd been fighting Bella's fate for too long now, and he feared where her visions might lead. His grip on her hand tightened, pulling her closer, and he pushed out a grating, "_No_."

Soothingly, Alice's palms framed his face, her thumbs gently stroking the crescent scars that littered the skin beneath his jaw. "_Jazz._" Her voice softened at the nickname she had gifted him years ago. "_Please_."

His eyes opened, searching hers. "Never. Where you go, I go. As it has always been from the moment you found me. Your fate is mine."

"Listen to me," she started again.

"No. For once, Mary Alice, I'm telling you no. We both go." Grimacing, Jasper risked a glance back to the house. "And they leave. _We_ owe it."

Edward heard the intent before the vampire moved or spoke, yet he willed himself immobile, dropping his chin to his chest, yielding and in deference.

Standing to his left, Demetri's voice was quiet, absent of the ever-present anger that lit Jane's thoughts. _We can do this here… or beyond the hill if it is something you would rather others not see. Unlike the rest, I care not for spectacle. You know this, as you know that this is not the path I would have preferred you walk. _

_Why didn't you just come back? Is serving your kind so ghastly? Why a human? _Demetri's thoughts were awash with a hundred years of shared memory. Where Eleazar believed, Demetri's mind held doubts. The attachment and fury he'd witnessed that night in Manhattan was far too visceral, too strong to believe that after such lengths, he'd given in.

Edward didn't answer. Instead, turning to Alice, barely moving his lips, he silently asked, "She lives?"

Guilt, fear, and a dozen unnamed emotions scattered across Alice's features, and reluctantly, she reached across the feet between them to lay her hand on Edward's shoulder. Unwilling to see her visions now, fearing what Bella's face would be in that future, alone and in mourning, Edward spun his focus to everyone and everything but Alice and her silently growling mate and smiled.

"Just get it over with, Demetri."

Behind them, Carlisle mutely called, _This isn't right, Edward. Not supposed to be like this… We agreed… But I swear to you that we won't leave her again. Ever. _

"Alec?"

Wordlessly, Edward watched as the too-familiar translucent shadow instantly appeared and began its approach. Unlike Jane's hellish pain, this was entirely other, the antithesis of her torture. It was cold darkness. It was numbness. It was nothingness and oblivion, and it crept across the grass toward his feet like a rolling fog.

He didn't want that – to feel nothing. To not see her smiling in memory.

"It isn't necessary, Alec." Edward dropped to his knees and lifted his hands. His chest rose and fell with slow, resigned breaths, sucking in the last remnants of Bella's perfume, absorbing and committing it to his very cells. "I won't fight you."

"Very well," Demetri whispered, signaling the boy to withdraw, shoving away the lingering doubts. Edward's eyes closed as two palms, hard as granite and strong as steel, framed his head. _I'll make this as painless as possible, Edward. I'm sorry it ended this way._

When Demetri's grip began to tighten, Alice looked to the lightened sky, incapable of watching the outcome that she feared would be the one to truly end Bella. She would live, as Edward so desperately demanded – as they all demanded – yet Alice knew what that living would entail.

Time dragged.

There was a loud creak, the grate of stone on stone, of a vampire's bones twisting, and instantly, her always-spinning second sight halted, pinned to a single, unchanging image. In the future, near and far, she saw the endless tracks of tears, the mindless sobs, the ghost of the girl he would leave behind. In that split second of perfect clarity, Alice witnessed the overwhelming grief that no one – human or vampire – could endure, and she realized that they would save the girl they loved only to condemn her to a greater hell than the Volturi could ever fashion.

Alice's body jerked and moved of its own volition.

Like lightning, a blur of white and dark, she streaked across the feet between them, slamming her small frame into Demetri's larger one, knocking him back a dozen feet.

An abrupt second of brittle stillness followed.

And then the air was filled with peals of thunder as bodies suddenly collided, moving as if in fast-forward, nothing more than impossible-to-follow flashes of motion and sound.

Instantly, Demetri sprang in perfect, practiced motion, grabbing Alice by the throat and throwing her off of him, launching her through the air. Headfirst, she skidded across the wet grass, yet the moment her body stopped, she was up again and running, barreling into his wide chest and dropping him to his feet. They tumbled back to the ground, rolling across the lawn in a tangle of snapping teeth and breaking bones, kicking up sprays of dirt and debris.

Reeling from Alice's intervention, angry and hot, Edward dropped into a low crouch. The splintered cracks that circled his neck burned as venom began knitting his flesh back together, but he barely noticed. There was no time to think – no time to question the pain or what exactly Alice had seen to change their course. Her mind was elsewhere, focused entirely on Demetri and his lethal attack.

Across the field, he found Alec and like a ball from a canon, Edward exploded, sprinting forward to take him down. His soles barely skimmed the earth, leaping over and around any who ventured into his path.

Half way, out of the corner of his eye, there was a whir of black. Instinctively, Edward sidestepped, swinging around just as the figure passed. He yanked Santiago back by the shoulders, pummeling him with his fists until he heard bones shattering. The Volturi commander snarled in pain, but still came at him with soldier precision and rabid devotion, knocking Edward's legs from beneath him with a cracking blow to the knee. Pulling the larger vampire with him, Edward rolled, kicking with his feet, sending the other vampire hurtling through the air and deep into the tree line.

When he looked up, Alec had disappeared in the melee.

Quickly, in less than a second, Edward took in the scene, searching for the target that he knew he must find. To his right, Alice was no longer battling Demetri; Emmett faced him instead, and the two were little more than blurry images of tearing limbs. Despite Emmett's massive strength and crushing blows, trained and battle worn, Demetri held the upper hand, delivering crushing hits to his midsection.

Somewhere behind him, Edward heard Carlisle and Esme. They were tangling with Eleazar, two against one, but the trained scout was fast, dodging their attempts. Carlisle's arm was already torn at the shoulder, hanging loosely, and he was struggling to keep his mate out of the fray.

To the left, Chelsea and Rosalie were squaring off. Long diagonal gashes, wet with venom, cut across the blonde Guard's face and her mind was lost in a mixture of pain and fury. Edward blinked and there was an ear-splitting crack as Chelsea punched through Rosalie's sternum. Rosalie screamed and flung herself at the other vampire, sending them both smashing through the nearest tree. The forest echoed with sounds of their struggle, loud, clapping booms that shook the ground.

Edward turned again, still searching for Alec, and he saw Jasper sprinting across the field in a heedless dash. A picture of warlord efficiency and speed, he darted through the gauntlet of fighting vampires, sliding past slinging arms and snapping teeth, his focus solely bent. Edward's eyes drew his line. At the end was Alice. And Jane.

At the feet of the cherubic child, Alice writhed on the ground, screaming as in her mind, inferno-like flames burned through her body, melting her skin and disintegrating her bones. Her cries were incoherent, mad with agony.

Edward jerked forward, automatically willing her torment to end, but a flicker of dark hair in his periphery caught Edward's eye. Immediately, fluid and strong, he twisted, spinning on his heel and blindly reaching for the vampire behind him. Edward's fist closed around Alec's upper arm, squeezing until he felt the bones shatter and pulverize.

Alec struggled in his grasp, growling and snarling, and Edward's vision began to gray. With each second that passed, his skin cooled, desensitizing, as Alec's numbing fog spread through his limbs. Alec's thoughts were triumphant, arrogant and sure. Edward's head would be his.

Before he was frozen, summoning all his strength and will, with a quick flick of his wrists, Edward lifted Alec by the shoulders, swinging him high overhead, and slammed him into the ground. The numbness immediately receded. Edward's knee dropped onto the boy's chest, crushing his ribs, and he tore at his throat with his teeth.

Bellowing in pain, Alec rammed an elbow into the side of Edward's skull, knocking him away, sending him careening through an old weathered outbuilding in an explosion of wood and crumbled concrete. Edward bolted upright, unfazed, and shot back through the opening in the wall.

He slowed when he saw Alec, waiting and rocking back on his heels.

Back and forth, the two vampires circled, feinting and dodging. Edward had but two options: to keep Alec moving so that he could not concentrate his gift… or kill him.

Alec advanced; Edward stepped right, reading his signals just moments before he made his moves. It was a practiced dance, one that would have downed any other vampire but another Volturi. Alec knew the tricks – how not to think, how to just react.

In the distance, Edward heard Jasper roar and he felt a wave of pure pain pour out from him as Jane lashed him with her mind. Unlike Alice, he didn't fall, however. Instead, he fought to remain upright, all the while coiling a rope of barely leashed terror.

Jane laughed and hit his mind again, but Jasper struck back, whipping his talent like a living thing, targeting the smiling girl. _Terror _cinched around her, invisible and strong, and Jane shrieked. Falling to the ground, her eyes rolled back and her muscles locked, wracked with convulsive shudders.

"What is he doing to my sister?" Alec growled, as he edged closer, readying his assault.

"Nothing she doesn't deserve," Edward grated.

From behind him, Edward suddenly heard two more Volturi approaching, closing in and surrounding him. At the foot of a nearby hill, at the edge of the trees, Rosalie and Carlisle were broken and fallen in crumpled heaps, and through Demetri's eyes, Edward saw that Emmett was waning fast. Limbs were missing and large chunks of flesh had been torn from his body.

Eleazar and Santiago, both scarred but still standing, rushed him at once. At the last moment, Edward jumped high, twisting his body in the air, and slammed a fist into Santiago's face. Eleazar, however, ducked low, missing Edward's other fist, and his own came around in a crushing backfist to Edward's spine, jarring him and knocking him down mid-air.

Edward pushed himself off the ground but was shoved back down. Face to the earth, a hard boot landed on Edward's shoulder, crunching it inside the socket, and iron claws grabbed him by the neck, twisting to the point where any move would snap it. Eleazar jerked him up, only to push him back to his knees.

Santiago pushed a knee into Edward's back and locked his arms behind him. Above, Alec and Eleazar stood. Alec seethed, his crimson eyes now hard, dark as death, and livid.

Slowly, ever so slowly, as if Alec purposefully drew out each second, Edward felt his body begin to cool once more, and his vision blurred to gray. Struggling, he clinched his fists, but there was no feeling to be found.

Next to his ear, Eleazar growled, "You forget who you fight, Edward. You were close, but we're stronger than you. Than these Cullens. You brought lambs to the slaughter. It should have never come to this. And now you'll all burn."

Edward blinked, trying to focus, as his senses rapidly depleted.

Somewhere in the background, almost as if in a dream, he heard shrieks of vampire flesh rending and ripping, and then he heard Jasper shouting at Alice. There were more shouts, loud but barely intelligible underneath the fog that enveloped him. And there were gruesome sounds of furious snarls and of bones breaking. Alice screamed and somehow, Edward knew that Demetri had managed to reach Jasper.

Now numb, full blackness encroaching, Edward pictured Bella's face in his mind and he murmured the words by rote, the same prayers he uttered a thousand times. He prayed that she would honor her promise – to live – and he begged for her forgiveness.

Bella's heartbeat thudded in his ears, and silently, Edward told her that he loved her.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Latin **[courtesy of the fisheaters, translated more in spirit than literal]:

_Domine, non sum dignus… Domine, exaudi orationem meam. Esto, turris fortitudinis a facie inimici. Et filius iniquitatis non apponat nocere eam. __Domine placere protege eam … – _O Lord, I am not worthy ... O Lord, hear my prayer. Be thou, a tower of strength against the face of the enemy. Let not the son of inequity harm her. O Lord, please protect her ...

**Italian **[thank you, Ms. Annalund and Ms. la_geologia, for approving and fixing my gender grammar fail]:

_La mia cantante… con il suo sangue perfetto – _My singer... with her perfect blood.


	22. A Bargain with the Devil

**A Bargain with the Devil**

* * *

The thunder had stopped, and all was still but for the chattering of her teeth and the rush of blood in her ears.

In stark contrast to the war of explosions and screeching metal, it was now _too_ quiet, and the abruptness of its appearance made the darkness of her tucked-away cellar closet that much more terrifying. For in that resounding silence, Bella somehow _knew_ that something had gone horribly wrong, that the probabilities that Alice dealt had swung in the very direction they had all feared the most. Stopping Edward's bite had changed nothing.

He was gone, alive or dead, Bella knew not, and she was here, alone in the dark, and trembling with the sudden knowledge that all had been for naught.

A second of shock passed and then something deep inside _turned_, twisting until a violent shudder wracked her frame. Her eyes clamped shut, and as if to physically hold herself together, Bella's arms automatically drew around her knees, pulling them tight into her chest. If anything, however, the pressure and cinch of her arms just reminded her of _him_. All through the night, Edward – her mate and love for all time – had held her close, even as she slept, unwilling to allow even a moment apart, and now, as clearly as if she were still upstairs and cradled in the strength of his embrace, Bella could hear his final words.

"_You must stay inside and remain hidden. The cellar here is deep beneath the earth, and I think it will muffle sound. Better than anywhere else at least. I'm hoping… We're going to keep them as far away from the house as we can." _

"_No!" _she had cried, hating what she heard in his voice and in his words. Instantly, his arms had tightened around her, stealing her breath, and Bella had known even then that had she looked up to see his face, unspeakable pain would have been written there.

"_God only knows what you may hear. But do not come outside, Isabella, no matter what. If all is silent, you are to wait until one of us comes to get you. If no one comes, wait for hours. Days even. Do not leave this house… _

"_Promise me that,"_ Edward had demanded when she'd hesitated. Gently, his forefinger had found her chin and turned her face up. Edward's eyes had been black, gleaming, and hard, even though his touch had been so soft, never, _ever_ bruising.

"_Please, Isabella. Promise me that you will stay hidden…" _he had repeated, pleading this time. Each word, rolling off his tongue in the quietest of whispers, spoke of fear and of grief and of love.

Over and over, Bella replayed those last moments, tears now flowing freely as a dark realization settled in the pit of her stomach. For now, sitting on the hard, damp floor of the hand-dug cellar, bathed in silence and darkness, Bella heard something else in those parting words – something that she'd done everything in her power to ignore.

She heard… _goodbye_.

It felt as though that goodbye would rip her body in two, as if her very existence was being frayed and unraveled. The air was too thin, and her lungs strained for oxygen, but no matter how many breaths she took, the yawning ache in her chest only grew, widening into a deep crevice of stabbing anguish. Her body shook as uncontrollable sobs spilled out, trying to expel the hurt within, but it just wouldn't stop. Burying her face in Edward's shirt, the only remnant of him that she had, Bella muffled her shaking cries, inhaling and exhaling his scent with each broken breath.

These last weeks – all the pain, all the nights of terror – were nothing compared to this. _This _was raw grief that threatened to stamp out her mind, body, and soul.

"_Promise me, Bella…"_ she heard again. The memory of his voice was like a bullwhip, flaying her from the inside, slicing her into a million jagged pieces.

Nothing could ever make this right, no matter if she survived, no matter how many years she went on, because without him, life was not possible; she would merely _exist_, a phantom of who she was now.

Their conversation from a week ago rang like dissenting bells in her ears.

"_What happens to a vampire when his mate dies?"_

_"What did you say?"_

_"I'm not stupid, Edward, nor am I naïve. I know about that, too. I've seen enough from watching __my__ vampires. I've seen the connection. I've __felt __it – or at least a shadow of it – in Jasper's projections. You can't explain this… any other way… Answer me. What happens to a vampire when he loses his mate?"_

_"They exist."_

_"How? Describe it." _

_"By living in the past."_

_"When I die, do you want that?"_

He had crumpled then, the despair so clear and so agonizing._ "No," _he had finally choked.

In this single, suspended moment in time, Bella understood something that Edward had not – that in his absence, that promise of pain would become hers, no matter that he was vampire and she was human. He was a part of her as surely as she was a part of him. A mated pair, two halves to a whole. Without one, there was none.

Staring into the shadows, breathing in _his _scent_, _crying _his _name, wallowing in the blackness of a future without _him_, something else, something beyond the grief and sorrow, began to take over.

_Anger_ stirred, cold and seething, and it bled into the despair, turning it over and over until the only word that her mind could conjure was a mirror of his harshly rasped, "_No._"

Bella's fist slammed into the dirt floor and her teeth clacked together.

_No, to him and to hiding and to unspoken goodbyes. _

_No, to the Volturi and their rules._

After all of this, after surviving so much…

_No, to living without him and going quietly into the night._

"No, Edward," she whispered, blinking back the streaming tears. "No, I won't promise you. I _can't_. I promise you something else instead. I promise that wherever you are, I am."

Soundlessly, driven by an angered desperation that overrode all fear and rationality, her body moved of its own accord, instinctively moving toward its match. Knees shaking and wobbly, Bella rose from the floor and padded across the uneven terrain, blindly following the wall to the slanted wooden door. Against her palms, the old cellar door was weighty, heavy and thick, the last wall between her and certain death. She understood that as soon as those rusted metal hinges creaked, _they_ would likely know of her presence. Once she pushed, there would be no going back.

Closing her eyes, Bella took a deep, steadying breath. She paused and then shoved her shoulder hard against the wood, using all of her weight against its heft. When the door finally gave, scraping against its concrete frame, pale light poured into the darkness, and fresh morning air, cool and scented by earth and pine, touched her face and filled her lungs.

She didn't even notice. Wasting no time, Bella darted through the opening and crept to the corner of the house. Plastered against the wooden siding, she swiped away her last remaining tears and swallowed back a final lump of thick salt. She waited but a second, enough time to mouth a prayer that she would see anything except for what she feared the most, and then dared to peek around the edge.

The moment she saw _them_, however, her breath caught in her throat and her heart slammed loudly – painfully – inside of her chest. For there were thirteen there on the lawn beyond the house – thirteen pale creatures that screamed _inhuman_ in their carriage and stature.

_Thirteen_.

Only seven of them did not move. Instead, Edward and her Cullens – her family – were frozen in time and in place, wintry statues of torn cloth and damaged marble.

North to his south, her eyes instantly flew to Edward's beaten form, contorted and on his knees. Behind him, one of the Volturi stood, dark and menacing, holding his arms behind his back at an impossible angle, and Bella could swear that she heard the telltale grate of cleaving granite. Two others – one, a tall, striking figure of unidentifiable descent, and the other, a dark-haired boy, no older than a teenager – stood above him, poised to strike.

The only hint of motion amidst the stillness, Edward's unruly hair danced in the breeze, throwing a dozen shades of copper and autumn in the muted sunlight. In any other time, he would have been beautiful, ethereal almost, more angel than man or vampire. But now, head and shoulders bowed sharply, lips mashed together, and eyes screwed tightly shut, he was the picture of silent suffering.

Bella's heartbeat soared, unsteady and wild in its rhythm, and every cell in her body jerked, demanding some kind of action to stop his pain. The crippling anguish she'd felt in the cellar came roaring back, threatening to take her to her knees. Digging her fingers into the slats, she held her position, however, trying to think, trying to divine some way to end this madness.

Before she could react, the tall one's head swiveled and he stared to his right, frowning and shaking his head. Dazed from the pain, Bella's gaze automatically followed, and then from behind her corner, she watched, numb and terrified, as a pale demon girl with fire for eyes walked toward Jasper's still body.

Frozen mid-snarl, his expression was livid and ferocious. His frame was taut, a tightly wound steel spring, and he was still dropped low into a defensive crouch. Bella immediately realized why. On the ground at Jasper's feet, Alice lay, small and curled on her side, struck down in her fight.

When her eyes scanned upward again, Bella saw past Jasper's unmoving growl. His clothes were in tatters, ripped and ragged, hanging loosely from his limbs, and even across the distance, she could see the gruesome injuries he had sustained in protecting his mate. _Pieces_ of him were missing.

Malice and blind hatred burned in the demon girl's expression, and her girlish soprano carried across the open space.

"This one's mine."

Time seemed to surge as the girl disappeared from Bella's sight. She was nothing more than a black and white blur that her human eyes could never hope to follow. Bella flinched when a sudden, ear-splitting fracture of thunder split the air, and then there was a sickening shriek of metal tearing from metal that curled her spine. Horrified and disbelieving, she blinked the image and sounds away. But when Bella opened her eyes, where Jasper had been, there was now a blazing ball of blue-white fire and a pillar of rising ash that spiraled up into the morning sky.

Comprehension dawned, as a cloying too-sweet taste touched her tongue. Convulsing, her stomach heaved, and Bella's palm slapped over her mouth to catch the rising bile.

When the tall vampire with flowing black robes stepped toward Edward, the world stopped.

And she screamed.

All movement halted.

There was no sound. There were no voices. There were no birds in the air. There was only the crackle of Jasper's burning body and inhuman stillness.

As if in a dream, Bella stumbled away from the house onto the lawn, staggering toward the scent of burned sugar and smoke, toward the one who still knelt on the ground, frozen beneath the Volturi boy's spell. For a split second, as she walked, she smelled decades of dust and the bitterness of aged paper and worn leather. Instead of trees and grass, she saw endless stacks of books on either side of her, and in her mind, she heard the clipped snap of dress shoes on black and white checkered tile.

For the second time in her life, Bella walked toward her death. And for the second time, it was Edward who stood at the end of that path. The rest mattered not.

Only feet away, her lids slowly closed. So close to him, something deep inside resonated. She inhaled, and his scent – honey and sunlight – floated on the breeze and filled her aching chest. Her fingers burned to touch him, but against her skin, beneath her clothes, Bella could almost feel the cool smoothness of _him_. For a too-brief moment, amidst the chaos and war of their situation, something resembling peace flooded her being.

"Wherever you are, so am I," she breathed.

When her eyes opened once more, however, that fragile peace crashed down around her. Dragging her gaze up the dark lines of ancient robes to pale white faces etched in stone, she found the murderous, scarlet eyes of six Volturi executioners.

"_Ah_, there you are," murmured the tall vampire. His accent, like his features, was strange and lilting, something out of a tome of ancient history. Towering over her, he stared down at her as if unsure what to make of her, as if he didn't quite grasp her presence.

"Please, don't –" Bella started, her heart fully in her throat, not knowing what to say, what she could say to save him. Her teeth clamped together and her fists balled by her sides, fighting the tide of her racing pulse and jittering nerves.

"Of course, he didn't kill you," he purred. "He almost convinced me, too… I wouldn't have ever believed that such was possible. A human mate…"

"Eleazar?" the young one asked, interrupting. Bella watched as the boy's expression faltered, his brows folding together and his mouth turning down in what she could only name as confusion. His focus flitted back and forth between the tall one called Eleazar and her, and then his lips seemed to flutter with words her human ears could not discern.

"Again, Alec," Eleazar commanded.

Before Eleazar had finished his order, _something_ happened. It was almost as if her vision rippled, a second of shimmering distortion that made everything momentarily blur and fade together. It reminded her of heat coming off of the pavement in the summer, but as soon as it appeared, it departed. Nothing changed.

"I don't understand…" Alec muttered.

Six pairs of eyes followed her every motion, and her breathing turned raspy and shallow, unsure if her last was upon her. The silence was deafening, pregnant with danger and violence.

"Leave him al-," Bella said, as she dared to step toward Edward. The too-fast rush of blood in her veins and the clamminess of her palms belied the strength in her voice.

There was a slap of a robe in the wind. "Silence, toy!"

Ice spiked Bella's blood and her face drained of all color. When she turned to the approaching demon girl with the candy voice, she recoiled, expecting the invisible daggers of which Edward had warned. Instead, she saw raging fury that had yet to be sated. Her eyes were blazing and her teeth were bared and slick, but the fiery knives never came.

Jane shrieked in anger that Bella didn't understand, and then she snarled again, snapping her teeth like a rabid canine. She lunged forward, her intent clear, but at Eleazar's quick behest, a hulking wall of black stepped in her path, blocking her attack.

Santiago roared as Jane struck his mind with her fire and wrath, livid at the interruption. As if hit by lightning, he dropped to his knees before her and his fingers tore into the ground.

"Alec! Calm her. Blind her if you must."

Everything moved too quickly for her to follow. Flashes of black streaked in front of Bella's eyes, and the air buzzed with angered hisses and growls. No more than ten seconds passed, however, and then all was quiet once more. Now less than three feet away, five Volturi eyed her with unveiled speculation. One glared in indisputable revulsion and rage.

"_Es tan fuerte... __ni siquiera __Jane__...__" _Eleazar whispered to himself, stunned. A pale hand extended from beneath his black robe. When his finger drew a line down her cheek, tracing the stains of her tears, Bella swallowed, waiting for him to strike her down as they were sent to do. _"Nunca he visto un don tan poderoso, tan inmenso. No tenían ni idea _... _Debemos contarle a Aro__..."_

"I don't know what you mean," Bella answered, gritting her teeth against the icy chill of his touch. Straightening her shoulders, more show than reality, she lifted her chin in defiance.

"But leave him alone. Leave the Cullens alone. They were just trying to protect me. It's me you want. Take me instead. I'm the one who broke your damned rules. I'm the one who searched for you and who found your Kings. _Me._"

Oxblood eyes flickered to life and Eleazar stared at her in disbelief.

"You heard me," she challenged, infusing as much strength in her voice as she could. "Kill me if you must. Or…"

Bella paused. Something significant in Eleazar's murmurings registered, and a sliver of hope wormed its way through Bella's mind, a dangerous thread of light in the darkness.

"Let me plead my case before your Masters. Let them decide."

There was a soft chuckle beside her. "Foolish human girl. Eleazar, be done with her. Or let me drink her now. You can't seriously consider her offer. She doesn't even know."

"Santiago, you forget who leads this chase," Eleazar snapped. The appearance of this aberration, one who it would seem could thwart them all, even as a lowly human… _changed things_. The scout in him took over.

Speaking as though Bella were not there at all, he went on, "Jane already killed one of the two we were supposed to spare. And his futureteller mate will be useless now… You know that. You've all seen Marcus.

"Aro will be furious with us all. Perhaps…perhaps a _replacement _would do…" Eleazar smiled faintly, although inwardly, he already feared their Master's retribution for their failure. "Edward can be handled… His death is imminent. Here or there, it is of little consequence. Perhaps they will spare him because of her. Or perhaps not. But the girl… Aro will be most _intrigued_…"

Demetri stepped forward, his eyes dark and probing. "Are you certain? Our orders…"

Bella looked up and down the line of her wounded family, so still and helpless. The scent of burning flesh singed her nostrils, and when she saw Alice, her eyes begged to weep. But she wouldn't allow them that; these Volturi would not see her break.

Here was her chance; not a chance at victory, but there was hope for a delay, for _time_.

Harsher, Bella demanded, "Let Edward live. For now at least. Unfreeze him and take us both back to Volterra if you have to. Let them decide. Change me. Kill me. _I don't care_. I'll do anything you want."

.

.


	23. A Cry to Heaven

**A Cry to Heaven, Part One **

* * *

The fog slowly rolled back, gradually revealing the gray, misshapen outlines of the figures surrounding him. Around and above, some were motionless, statues of bone-white stone carved mid-step. Others moved, however; dimly, he could see heads nodding and shaking, and in his periphery, the long, flowing line of a billowing cloak waved like a flag.

A second passed, and there was another breach in the fog, this time smell and the beginnings of touch. The heat of the morning sun beat down on the top of his head, yet there was the contrasting chill of autumn air against his skin. When Edward inhaled, the wind carried with it the harsh, cloying stench of charred immortal flesh, so strong that it overwhelmed all else. How many and who burned he knew not. He could only wait, anticipating annihilation and hoping that at least she remained hidden.

Finally, after what felt like an age, came sound.

It was that _sound_ that told him that _everything_ had gone horribly, horribly wrong. For the moment, Alec began to slowly inch him away from the dark oblivion of silence, and Edward heard _her_. No more than a foot away, no longer hidden deep within the earthen walls of the old cellar, Bella was _here_. And he was still _alive_, which only meant that all had been for naught; he had failed to save her from his demon masters.

Limbs still frozen beneath the boy's curse, Edward merely existed, immobile and listening to the stampede of his mate's frightened, hammering heartbeats, incapable of shielding her from the very ones who would destroy her. Each rhythmic thump struck him squarely, filling him with at once both heaven and hell.

Caged violence, pure and instinctual, rattled his bones.

_Edward,_ Eleazar silently called. _Listen very carefully. Your mate is here, I'm sure you're now aware. For the time being, she is something that we shall call a matter of… intrigue. Her shield is astonishing in its magnitude. And the clever girl has brokered… a deal of sorts, albeit a temporary one. _

Inside his frozen shell, Edward quivered with unspent fury as in his mind, Eleazar swiftly recalled fragments of the minutes he had lost under Alec's stupor.

_Looking up the Cullen line, now immobile, there is a moment of indecision. Demetri argues, "Leave them be, Eleazar. We're here to deal with Edward and to take the futureteller and the empath back to Aro." Ever the soldier, the Greek holds no ill will, even toward the fallen brother on his knees before us. "This fight was to be expected, albeit misguided… Surely you see that." In his tone, there is grudging respect for these misfits. Something else is there, too, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared._

"_I agree with Demetri," Alec reluctantly speaks, even as he holds the fair-eyed vampires in thrall. His gaze flits from the empath down to the dark-haired futureteller curled on her side. We're all surprised by his declaration, but then the witch-boy has never been the sadist his sister is. _

"_No! That one is mine!" Jane shrieks. Livid and snarling in disagreement, she ignores all logic and reason. Before any of us can react to stop her, like a feral cat, she leaps forward to take the empath's head for daring to strike her, for being the first since the time she awoke to cause _her_ pain… Chelsea darts ahead to stop her, but she is too late. The body erupts into flames, smoking the air… _

"_You fool!" Santiago growls at Jane, raging at her stupidity. He's right. Aro will be furious… The futureteller, his prize, will be useless now… _

"_Enough!" I snarl, stalking toward the vampire on his knees. Fury courses through my long-dead veins. "It's time to be done with this. Jane, you answer to Aro when we return…" Demetri eyes me askance, a frown affixed to his face, before looking away as I grasp Edward's head to twist. _

_A blood-curdling human scream echoes in the low valley. It's startling, both in its volume and its horror, and my hands immediately still. _

_I turn as a frail human girl with darkened eyes stumbles from behind the house. She looks as though she's been buried alive, disheveled and with smudges of black dirt staining her cheeks and hands. Moisture leaks from her eyes and her heart flies like a hummingbird's wings._

_We watch, bemused and intrigued, as this human walks toward us – to Edward – listless, as if in a trance. I don't know what to make of her. But when I breathe in – Ah, so that's it – she smells like Edward._

_Shock spreads when the gifts of the witch-twins fail to touch her, even Jane's balefire. Her breathing comes in sharp pants yet she feels nothing. Words escape my tongue before I can reel them in. She's stronger than I've ever seen. So much stronger than Renata. Maybe if the girl were changed… _

_I glance to my right. Still frowning in distaste, Demetri is cool, unaffected by the girl's armor; he anticipated as much, I realize. I should have caught the aberration during the chase overland. To my left, Alec is perplexed - intrigued. But Jane… again she is furious, vexed that her unstoppable fire has been quenched… by a mortal. _

_All hell breaks loose when she attacks. Santiago and Chelsea are no match, but then containing Jane is always a challenge. She was changed too early. She's too volatile… Aro made a mistake with her._

"_Alec!" I command. _

_But he's already there, reining her in and tamping out her tantrum. Of course, she's still seething. She cannot be permitted near the girl until we decide. _

_Somehow, by some gift I cannot comprehend, the human still stands, resolute and unmoved by the violence and danger, as she begs for their lives – for the existences of those she calls her family. Her voice stutters and I can smell her fear, but she makes no move to escape. Such a brave, foolish human, thinking she can stand alone against us._

_Chelsea's eyes flicker to mine and she nods. The ties binding Edward to his human are unmistakable. More surprising is that they are reciprocated in her. I'm stunned yet again when she offers herself to us – a bargain made by a trembling human girl to save her vampire soul mate._

_My head shakes, although I hear the measure of reason behind her words, an echo of my own conjecture. Perhaps Aro can be assuaged, I wonder, recalling… He can sort this mess out himself… Perhaps she will serve as a replacement. If not, killing her is simple enough. Her blood smells like a dream…_

Flinching beneath the onslaught of images, Edward's teeth snapped together and the muscles in his arms flexed like steel cables, as he fought to free himself from Alec's remaining invisible iron chains. Fury bled away, however, morphing into a deep sinking dread, as Eleazar replayed Bella's final, desperate plea:

_Squaring her shoulders, her voice rough from fear, the dark-haired girl demands, "Let Edward live. For now at least. Unfreeze him and take us both back to Volterra if you have to. Let them decide. Change me. Kill me. __I don't care__. I'll do anything you want."_

_We all are amused. And agreeable. _

"_Very well. So be it, human. You will have your audience…"_

Edward's vision cleared just as Eleazar stepped directly in front of him. The darker vampire smiled and leaned down until their faces were separated by mere inches.

_Resourceful girl, _Eleazar silently mused, nodding to their left where Bella's wavering shadow just touched the edge of Edward's vision._ You can understand why I've decided that perhaps her offer would be of interest to the Masters. _

_You should also understand that I'm risking their retribution by delaying your sentence. We should destroy you now, but I want the girl coherent when I present her before the Masters. You may thank your human that your fate will be decided in Italy, not here… Although I'm certain we both know what Caius will demand for your treachery once we arrive... Nevertheless, come willingly, Edward, and perhaps your mate at least can be spared. _

Eleazar straightened. _When Alec pulls the remaining binders away, do not even think to attack. Do not protest, else I will act. _The low, purring whisper in Edward's mind turned into an angry growl. _I swear that we will destroy you both if you do not cooperate. Do not make me regret my decisions. Don't test me. _

"Alec," he called aloud.

"Yes, Eleazar," the boy responded, as he pulled away the last binding tether. Before the final syllable had broken the boy's lips, however, Edward was already moving.

Bella gasped when the ground suddenly fell away. Up traded places with down as she abruptly soared, somersaulting through the air. Greens and browns and electric blue blurred together, spinning so fast that she barely had time to register the approaching ground before the balls of her feet somehow landed in soft grass. She pitched forward but an unyielding band of cold steel caught her fall.

It took less than a second for Bella's mind to catch up to her eyes. Where there had been six vampires staring down at her in stony silence, now all she could see was a wall of dark cotton hugging the lines of sinewy muscle that Bella knew better than her own.

Like a viper coiled to strike, Edward was tense, hard, and focused, angled between her and all those who wished to harm her. A low, menacing growl rumbled in his chest, yet when Bella touched his side, splaying her fingers across the iron bars of his ribcage, she felt the rough stutter of a breath that expelled from his lungs – a sigh of profound relief that seemed to wash from him through her. Despite her screaming lungs and lurching stomach, every cell in her body came to life, clamoring to touch him, to wrap herself around him and weep.

"Stay away from her," Edward snarled.

Over his shoulder, Bella watched the guards sink into deep crouches. Their teeth were bared, wetly gleaming in the morning sun, ready to attack and destroy. The witch-girl was smiling. It was the same chilling smile that Bella saw just before Jasper had been torn apart. Her grip tightened around Edward's waist.

"Edward, don't be a fool," Eleazar warned. "I told you what will happen."

A cool palm reached back and found the top of Bella's hip. With startling gentleness, never turning or looking away from their would-be attackers, Edward began guiding her backward – _away_. The roll and shuddering flex of his shoulders told her that he was vacillating between two primal instincts – to fight them all or to grab her and run.

Bella knew that either would be disastrous for the remaining Cullens, for her, and especially for Edward. The image of Jasper's torn and burning body, now forever etched in her mind, was all that she could see.

"Stop," Bella whispered. "Don't. Please."

The pleading in her voice twisted his insides, yet Edward didn't dare turn away. Every part of him screamed to act – to defend – even knowing the odds.

Hands up in mock surrender, Eleazar purred, "Listen to her, Edward. There is no alternative. You know this. We will destroy you both."

_Don't, Edward…_ Demetri warned. _She's given you a chance… Perhaps…_

"Edward?" Bella whispered again, pressing her lips to his bicep. Adrenaline spiked her blood, and he could smell salt in the air. "_Please_."

Edward's grip on Bella's hip tightened, his fingers shaking in restraint, and against her chest, Bella felt him take a deep breath. Never taking his eyes away from his once brothers, he managed through clenched teeth, "Isabella, you have no idea what you are asking."

"It's the only way."

"No." Edward shook his head. "No, it can't be. They will kill you. Or enslave you. Trust me… I know." He paused as if recalling something buried deep within, something lost and nearly forgotten. Softer, incapable of disguising the anguish that bubbled to the surface, he asked, "Why didn't you stay inside? You promised."

Bella's fingers clawed against the inflexible steel of his side. "I won't watch you die like that. Don't you understand? It's the same for me. Don't ask that of me. We go together."

Bittersweet, spreading warmth – the comforting heat of all-encompassing fated love, tarnished by the fear of losing everything – flooded, holding his tongue and swelling his throat. For an all too brief moment in time, he drowned in it – in her. But time was a luxury that could not be afforded. Too many violent voices clamored inside Edward's head. When he heard Jane's impatient clucking tongue, reason warred with instinct, as with vampire speed, he raced through a hundred other scenarios, all of which, even without Alice's second sight, Edward knew would result in failure.

"We have to go with them. It's the only way."

Edward looked to Eleazar. Shoulders taut, the scout eyed him warily, as though he expected attack. Reluctantly, his gaze slid from him to Alec, to Demetri, and then finally to Jane. When she smiled, pain bloomed as sharp tips of hot knives began prodding Edward's skull.

_Your toy will be mine. Caius won't allow your treachery, you know that. You never deserved your robes. You're weak, a dishonor to your kind and your station. When you're ash, she's mine, regardless of what Aro says..._

Suppressing the involuntary recoil, both from her assault in his head and the menacing vow in her words, Edward turned back to Eleazar. Motioning to Jane, he quietly pressed, "They won't touch her, correct?"

Eleazar glanced from Edward to Jane and then back again. With a sharp downward swipe of his head, he agreed. "You have my word. None will lay a hand on your human… Unless the Masters command it, of course."

Bella's heartbeat soared. Her fingers twined between his, squeezing the softest silk around cold granite, as Edward slowly dropped his chin in bleak resignation.

Wasting no time, Eleazar snapped his head once more and then barked, "Demetri! Bring the futureteller. Alec, keep her bound. I don't want any suicide missions."

**~.~.~**

The small business class jet tore through the clouds with a roll of thunder. Through the tinted window, the setting sun blazed across sky, and mile-high mountains of white cotton stretched as far as her eyes could see. Thousands of feet below, the Atlantic glittered like millions of tiny sapphires. Yet despite the beauty and grandeur, hours later, Bella still saw the plume of dark smoke rising from the blue-white ball of blistering fire. At its base lay a frail, unconscious body, limp, blinded, and bound by unseen shackles.

When Bella began gently stroking her short-cropped hair, the small vampire curled on the seat beside her didn't move. Her eyes were shadowed and flat, matte black and devoid of life, staring unseeingly ahead. Still as ancient stone, Alice neither moved nor spoke, held in stasis by the boy at the front of the plane.

At least the Cullens had been freed to heal and tend their wounds, Bella reflected. With startling clarity, she recalled their horrified faces and broken limbs as they had come to life again, smelling ash and fire. They had been spared, as she had begged, only to be forced to watch the Volturi spirit Alice, Edward, and her away. There had been no other alternative; the Volturi were too strong to fight. Carlisle had seen it, although the others had not. Emmett flashed through her mind, viciously snarling, his expression locked into one of outright rage and despair, as Carlisle and Rosalie held him back.

"Can you read her at all?" Bella softly asked.

Edward's gaze never drifted from the group of vampires in front of him, and his arm involuntarily tightened around her shoulder, pulling her closer into his side. Despite the layers of clothes, he could feel the rhythmic sloshing hum of blood coursing through her veins, its resonance and warmth the only thing tethering him to the present.

"No," he murmured. "Not while Alec binds her senses."

Bella looked down and frowned, as she slowly and methodically wiped the dirt and debris from Alice's pale cheeks. "She doesn't know yet… about Jasper?" Her voice broke at the end.

Swallowing, Edward forced himself to answer truthfully. "No. I don't think she will until Alec releases her, as he did me. His talent is the antithesis of Jane's. He completely removes you from the world – you can't hear, speak, see, or move. I can only assume that Alice's sight is suspended right now, as my hearing was. The moment he pulls back, however… she'll…"

"She'll just _know_, right?" Silent tears slipped down Bella's face and she buried her face into Edward's shirt, inhaling _him_, soaking up his scent and life, trying to memorize every part of him before it was all taken away. Muffled against his chest, she cried, "It would have been better if they had just killed her, too."

"I know."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Edward tucked Bella's head beneath his chin, pressing his lips to her forehead, her temple, then the top of her head, despising the pain that he could not erase. Guilt blossomed and crawled through his mind, because he knew what had been sacrificed when Alice had chosen to attack in that field. So many years of watching and of hearing Marcus's silent despairing litany told him what lay in store for her. Her world – should she survive – would be eternal night and mourning, merely existing as half of a forever-broken whole.

**~.~.~**

Two-dozen pale white vampires filled the ancient solar. Some were Guard, others were guests, yet all intently stared at the three kings in black brocaded finery who commanded the dais. It was a silent audience where none in the dimly lit room spoke, although loud above the crackle of the flickering gas lamps lining the walls, the whisper of rumor and speculation hovered in the air.

From the moment the plane had touched Italian soil, word had spread like wildfire that Edward, crown jewel turned traitor, still breathed, and that the hunting party had returned with not only him, but also with his pet – a human – the very meddlesome girl he had been sent to destroy. In more than three millennia of iron-fisted rule, never had such an anomaly occurred.

Perched on the center throne, impatiently fingering the curve of a gilded armrest, Aro seethed. Carefully constructed, his face wore a mask of bored disinterest and apathy, belying nothing of the boiling fury that threatened to overspill. Yet unlike the white-haired one beside him, who made no effort whatsoever to hide his icy wrath, Aro's anger was divided – spread equally between Eleazar's disobedience and the damage to his _acquisition_.

Buried beneath that anger, however, lurked something else. It was an unspoken uncertainty that set his teeth on edge, the fear of a scene that neither he nor Caius had dared to recall in more than a century, not since the day Edward had joined their ranks.

Such a simple task, Aro mused – the execution of one pitiful little human and the surveillance of a wayward coven – had turned into a disaster of monumental proportion. As if to spite him, the improbable had truly occurred, an aberration that had not been seen in thousands of years. The interference of the tawny-eyed Cullens mattered not, and the girl's _discoveries_ and petty research were no longer of any consequence. With Edward still alive and _here_, it was her very existence and the fact that her heart still pumped that risked them all. Therein lay the true peril; together, she and Edward threatened _revelation_.

Aro's fingers drummed a tight rhythm as he waited, debating the options at hand.

Where Aro deliberated, always questioning and angling, Caius's decision had been made the moment he had received word of the Guard's failure. Silent and furious, he glared daggers at the massive oaken doors that decorated the far wall.

Without warning, Caius's ashen hand lifted from its rest and extended in rare invitation. When papery, thin flesh touched his, he unleashed.

_This is your fault, you fool! _Caius spat, deafening against the blur of memories and spinning thoughts. _Edward will be destroyed immediately. There is too much to lose here… The law is clear. None shall even think to argue or question. _Unwittingly, Caius's crimson gaze drifted to the third throne where Marcus sat mute and unmoving, mesmerized by a bar of translucent light seeping in through a high window. If he noted their exchange or demeanor, he gave no indication. Such was expected; it had been weeks now since the ancient vampire had even spoken.

_Your futureteller is lost, Aro. You know that she will be of little use without her mate, even if Chelsea binds her here. More importantly, she knows too much… Don't even think of it… There are far more significant things to consider than another addition to your collection. _

Aro's teeth clacked together, biting back the retort that sat on the tip of his tongue. The air in the room seemed to crackle as they glowered across the space between them, two pairs of livid, ruby eyes locked in their eternal war for power. A sardonic smile flitted as Caius tapped Aro's palm. _Does your greed know no bounds, brother? Would you risk it? Burn all three and be done with this._

Before Aro could respond, the thorny silence was broken by the rap of heels against stone, followed by a small quivering soprano. "Signori padroni, il signor Eleazar è arrivato. Richiede un'udienza."

Aro fitted Caius with one final scowl before waving his hand in a haphazard summons, snapping at the cowering human servant when she moved too slowly. "Bring him here. Bring them all. Now, Gianna!"

**~.~.~**

Teeth chattering, Bella clung to Edward's side as they were marched through a never-ending maze of dank, cold passageways.

It was a scene out of her nightmares. Deep in the heart of the ancient Keep, time seemed to bend and warp, and reality blurred with half-recalled memory. Just like in her dream from so many nights ago, the air was damp and tacky and it smelled stale, of musk, age, and death. When she dared to look down at the worn tiles beneath her feet, etched into the limestone, Bella saw dark, unmistakable stains, outlines of the countless scarlet rivers that had flowed. So many had died and bled here that she could almost taste the copper and salt.

If Edward was affected, she couldn't tell. Walking as if by rote, his now rust-colored eyes were affixed to something far, far ahead, tuned to some point that her human eyes could never discern. Like in the field, the planes of his face appeared to have been carved from rock and his body was coiled tightly, anticipating the worst. As though she would be torn away at any moment, he clutched her close against him, curling around her like a steel cage.

With each step, the air seemed to thin. Bella's breathing turned rough and shallow, and from exertion or stress, or from sheer exhaustion, she wasn't sure, her legs ached. She was on the verge of collapse, upright by will alone. Yet after untold minutes of winding paths and gleaming lamps, all was forgotten, when two doors, tall and made of oak planks as old as time itself, appeared out of the darkness.

Immediately, knowing what lay behind them, Bella's heart pounded, rattling her ribcage, and the wind in her lungs seemed to solidify. There was no sound but for the high-pitched whine of her blood screaming through her veins.

By some unseen force, the doors swung wide, creaking from age, and a vast, centuries-old chamber consumed the field of her vision. As if time had halted, in a daze she took in dozens of bone-white, ethereal faces, all trained to her and to the autumn-haired vampire who held her up. For a split second, she forgot why they were here. These vampires were beautiful in their stillness, a deadly army of carved marble worthy of Bernini's hand.

But when Bella saw _them_, however, all else fell away. Far ahead, atop high-backed royal thrones, intricately carved and glittering bright gold in the lamplight, sat three men she'd only seen rendered on paper. That day in the library seemed like a lifetime ago, yet in her mind, no time had passed at all. Draped in their dark robes and fine jewels, they were the same – Solimena's _Re della Notte._

Automatically, Bella's lips shaped the names – _Caius… Aro… Marcus… – _panic setting in, as dead eyes glared at them with open hostility. Knees shaking, her bravado was spent, lost somewhere in the darkness of the tunnels behind her, and her thoughts now swam with dread, questioning everything, desperately grasping for that sliver of hope that had propelled them here. How she had believed that they stood a chance here, she couldn't fathom. She was a mere mortal. Their condemnation was etched into the very stone beneath her feet.

When he heard Bella's sharp intake of breath, Edward's shoulders bunched and he quickly pulled her flush to his side, not allowing an inch of space between them. Here in this place, before his once-Masters, he fought against the engrained impulse to dip his head in deference. Instead, refusing to acknowledge their rule and command, Edward raised his chin, and in his mind, dozens of murmuring voices attacked, a cacophony of idle curiosity mingled with barely concealed hatred.

_It's true… How can it be? Such thing is not allowed…_ a fair-haired Irish woman whispered.

_Why? Surely, they won't permit this… The law… _another murmured, his words laden with the strange cadence of a distant desert.

_The prodigal returns… _came another, a mental whisper that Edward had known his entire existence. For a moment, Aro sounded almost wistful – regretful – and a vision of a raging newborn flashed across his memory. _A shame you were never truly mine… Your allegiance would have been stronger…_

Blanching at the image thrown back at him – himself, young and wild, crushing a young girl's body as his teeth sank into her throat, her blood pouring down his chin – Edward's eyes involuntarily jerked to the quiet throne on the far left. He almost spoke, but then Caius's venomous fury blared, drowning out everything else, pulling his focus back right. With regal scorn and derision, the vampire king rose and approached the edge of the dais. Silencing the whispers and mental chatter, Caius's voice rang in the vast chamber, addressing not Edward, but their scout.

"You disobeyed us, Eleazar."

Flinching, Eleazar immediately dropped to his knee at the foot of the steps in a low bow of subservience. His chin touched his sternum. Quietly, he answered, hoping in vain to assuage their ire, "You have charged me with bringing talent, Masters. The girl was something… unexpected. She is a shield, even as a mortal. Not even Ja–"

"Silence!"

"Patience, brother," Aro soothed, as he slowly drifted down the steps to the kneeling Guard. Slowly, his focus slid from the small limp body in Demetri's arms to Edward and to the girl hidden by his embrace. Palm extended, Aro softly commanded, "Show me, Eleazar. Show me everything. Explain yourself."

When Eleazar obediently lifted his hand to his Master's, Edward's teeth grinded, and a rolling shudder betrayed his stony façade. An angry hiss broke his lips, and his chest vibrated with a silent growl. What Aro saw in Eleazar's thoughts or what Edward heard, Bella could only imagine.

Their exchange lasted mere seconds, each one a quiet torture.

"Fascinating," Aro finally murmured. Sharp, angled lines appeared across the vampire's brow, and looking at Bella, he paused, almost as though he were wrestling two opposing desires.

Still not looking away from her, Eleazar forgotten and dismissed by the wave of a hand, Aro asked, "So this is what you betrayed us for?"

"Yes, Aro," Edward answered, his tone harsh in response to the other words he heard – those _not_ spoken aloud. "You know this already. You know why we're here. There's no need..."

Aro bared his teeth at the insolence of Edward's address. "Indeed, I _do_ know," he spat, before he motioned Bella forward. "Come here, Isabella."

Swallowing, Bella turned and gazed into Edward's wide eyes. The front of glacial fury departed, and she saw what she could only call exposed helplessness. Ignoring the sets of eyes burning into her, she placed a restraining hand on his hollow chest and leaned up on her toes to whisper in his ear.

Edward's hand captured Bella's, pulling her wrist to his lips. "Bella, they're not going to…"

Gently, she touched his cheek. "We have to _try_."

Slowly, against all her human instincts to run, Bella walked to the dais, words of pleading on the tip of her tongue. She glanced back only once and found Edward staring at the motionless vampire still seated on his gilded chair, gazing at the high window overhead, ignoring them all as though they weren't even present._ So that's what it's like_, she thought, seeing despondency so immense that it made her own chest ache.

Stopping just short of Aro, Bella lifted her eyes to meet his. Unlike Edward's, they were opaque in their age, a chilling milky red. There was a certain mania in the forced upturn of his lips, too, a hint of madness that made her hand tremble when she extended it.

Smiling, Aro took Bella's palm. When they touched, she almost jumped back, and every cell in her body screamed for her to rip her hand from his. Where Edward's skin was cool to the touch, Aro's was like ice, so cold it burned. Its texture was strangely smooth, papery almost, and somehow thin. When she took a stuttering breath, she smelled antiquity, incense, and unnamed spices. Staring up into those opaque bloody eyes, Aro was the most inhuman thing Bella had ever seen.

From behind her, she heard Edward exhale a punch of air.

The stream of thoughts he expected never came. Aro stiffened and closed his eyes, squeezing the girl's hand again, this time until she winced in pain.

Still nothing. There was silent void where her mind should be, an impenetrable wall that resisted every assault. Never in all his years had Aro's gift been thwarted so utterly and so completely. A wave of sharp irritation coursed through him, and suddenly he understood Eleazar's visions of young Jane, snapping and snarling in hate-filled fury.

"Extraordinary…" Aro murmured, his incredulity quickly lost in mounting fascination and greed. "Just as powerful as they say. We may have use for you, my child."

A peal of thunder shook the room as Caius's fist shattered a column, showering the room in debris and broken rubble. "I won't allow it!"

Aro jerked his head and hissed. "You allow nothing." Brows lifted in challenge, he purred, "I have not forgotten, dearest brother. Have no fear. The law will be served."

"So you wish to become one of us? A Guard?" Aro sang, turning back once more.

"Leave Edward alone," Bella stuttered. "I'll join you. Whatever you say. Just… don't hurt him."

Head tilted, Aro tapped a finger to his chin, as if truly considering her request. Despite the lurch in her stomach, for a split second, Bella's heart thudded in hope.

But when he smiled again, something was… _off_.

"We must speak with our Edward first, young Isabella," Aro crooned, widening his smile and clasping his hands together in counterfeit sincerity. When she glanced to the side, the white-haired one was silent, his eyes gleaming with a zealous fervor in the lamplight.

"We'll discuss your change later. After I've chatted with Edward, of course. And there are a few matters to discuss with your little Alice, as well." Aro's fingers snapped. "Demetrios, take our Isabella to the east wing."

Edward's anguished, whispered, "No!" made Bella's stomach sink, because she knew that he had heard the truth in Aro's thoughts, not the lies he fed to her.

"Please. Please don't," she begged, her breath coming in harsh rasps that scraped her throat like sandpaper. But her pleas were drowned out by a ripple of shifting bodies and soft murmurs amongst those present.

"Master?" When Bella turned to find the voice, undisguised shock contorted Demetri's pale face.

"You dare to argue?" Aro growled.

"No," Demetri cowed, immediately handing Alice's still limp body over to Alec. His head bowed in supplication. "Forgive me, Master. I forgot myself."

Things moved very quickly when Demetri reached for her.

Bella spun on her heel when she heard Edward roar. Frozen in place, she screamed, watching in horror as he crouched low. Ignoring all risk and all odds, he shot through the air, flying toward Demetri headlong in a streaking blur of dark and light.

In Bella's periphery, however, from somewhere closer to her, there was another blur of motion, and then a loud crash of metal rocked the chamber as two bodies collided mid-air. Her eyes couldn't hope to follow their fight as they twisted and rolled. Jagged cracks appeared, splitting the tile beneath them. She blinked, and a dark form – Edward or the other, Bella couldn't tell – skidded across stone, hurtling into the closest column, only to rise and streak back into the fray.

Before she could scream again, however, the battle was suddenly over. Santiago, seemingly untouched, rose from the floor, dusting debris from his cloak, and glanced at Edward. Writhing from the attacker he couldn't see, Edward's lips were parted in silent shrieks and his eyes rolled back until she could only see white.

Apart from the rest of the Guard, Jane stood, staring down at Edward, smiling her cherubic smile

"Stop it! Please! You're _hurting_ him!" Bella cried, her body carrying her forward.

Jane briefly glanced up, her smile twisting as she cooed, "And?"

A cold band of steel captured Bella's arm, yanking her back and dragging her away. Fighting for all she was worth, Bella struggled in Demetri's grasp – hitting him, kicking him, twisting her body – but it was all for naught. Her strength was nothing in comparison to his, a lamb in the jaws of the lion.

Hot, desperate tears streaked down Bella's face as the Guard pulled her from the room. The last thing she heard before the oak doors thumped shut was Aro's arrogant _tsk_ and then a cool command to Alec, telling him to release Alice from thrall.

Although she couldn't see, Bella immediately knew that the boy had obeyed. For despite the thickness of the walls and doors, Alice's sudden wails of misery carried down the long passageway, resonating in her bones. Fresh tears stained her cheeks.

"Let me go!" Bella screamed, flailing her arms against stone. When her fist connected with Demetri's jaw, she heard her own bones crack, and pain radiated through her wrist, shooting into her shoulder.

Annoyed, Demetri halted and slammed Bella against the wall. "Stop fighting, girl. It's no use," he snapped, angrily jerking her up on her toes.

Demetri knew that there was more than the law at stake. He had lived for too long and he had seen too much. There was something else – something that the Masters wanted kept hidden – that drove them to act with such recklessness. In truth, he was only surprised that the girl's life was not forfeit as well, a result of pure avarice. The games of the Masters rarely made sense, yet they were always deadly for any involved. Softer, worn from the centuries of intrigue, he added, "You should count your blessings that you are being spared. Aro's granted you that. Surely, you didn't think he would actually allow Edward to live?"

Bella closed her eyes. "You don't understand. You can't," she sobbed, uselessly clawing at the iron fist holding her up. "Please, let me go…"

"What? Let you die?"

Ceasing her struggles, Bella went deathly still and she stared into the Guard's dark eyes, shadowed by the low light of nearest torch. "Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Just let me go with him."

Demetri's jaw braced and his eyes fell from Bella's as another shriek echoed through the hall. He flinched, as in his mind he recalled his countless years – a soldier and killer, a Guard, a slave to his Masters' whims. For some unknown reason, the lone remnant of his human past – the delicately hewn replica of the wife and child he'd left behind – shone brightly in memory.

"Please," Bella breathed again.

"Ma tous theous!" he hissed. Angered by the sudden inexplicable indecision that gripped him, knowing what it meant were he to disobey, Demetri looked away, glaring in the direction of the ancient chamber. He could hear her heart pumping inside of her chest, and the smell of the girl's rushing blood and salty tears made his mouth water. For a brief moment, he turned back, staring at her with black, hungry eyes.

Abruptly, without explanation, the balls of Bella's feet slapped against the floor, and Demetri shoved her bodily down the tunnel – _toward_ the solar. Under his breath, he muttered something that sounded like, "Ante ston Ath!"

"Go!" he growled when she didn't move.

As if struck by a whip, Bella sped through the tunnel, her tennis shoes loud against the stone. They hadn't gone far, but with so few lamps lighting the way, the space was still dark to her eyes. Again, in some strange sense of déjà vu, the vision the same as in her dream, her fingertips dragged across the walls for guidance.

As she drew closer, thunder boomed, and there were the chilling sounds of metal scraping against metal. Only now in the dark, she had no idea who fought – if Edward was even still alive.

When the wooden doors finally came into view, all had gone silent once more. Although she ran, her legs burning from exertion, it felt as though her limbs were weighted by concrete, as though time were battling against her, barring her way. Somehow, however, Bella's palms finally smacked against the wood.

The scene in the chamber was different, yet at the same time, it was remarkably the same.

Arms pinned by two black-cloaked Guards, Edward stood before Aro and Caius, their inhuman features superior and triumphant. Stealing what little reason she had left, Edward's chest heaved and agony marred his too-perfect face.

"How did she…" she vaguely heard, too lost in the pain of watching her mate suffer to care anymore.

Another stab twisted her insides when she glanced to the floor. For at their feet lay Alice, again unmoving, pieces of her flesh torn away. At once, Bella understood. The moment Alec had released her, just as Edward had told her on the plane, Alice had _known_. And she had attacked, uncaring of the consequence.

Numb, Bella stared at Aro's still frame, and then turned to Caius, knowing death was at her door, no longer fearful of what they could do to her.

When her gaze landed on the third, however, she gasped. Because he had finally moved. And now, somehow, for some unknown reason, Marcus was looking at _her_.

"Stop them," Bella quietly asked him, her voice just above a whisper. "For God's sake, stop them!"

Though his dark eyes didn't drop from hers, the eldest's expression never wavered, still an image of perfect apathy. It was almost as though he didn't hear her at all, buried and lost in a world of his own making.

"Marcus!" Edward suddenly rasped as he stretched to see with his own eyes what others' witnessed. When he tried to move, Jane struck him with her fire, and a wave of fiery mind-bending pain shot though his limbs. It felt as though he were burning at the stake, as though his skin was being eaten away.

Gritting his teeth, Edward yelled again, "Marcus! _Look_ at her! _Look_ at me!"

"How dare you address–" Caius snarled, as Jane sent yet another spike of wrenching pain through his mid section. Shuddering, Edward dropped to the floor, collapsing to his knees, his spine arching from her torture.

Without thinking, his mind now nearly incoherent, he looked at Marcus's blank face. A hopeless, whispered plea fell from Edward's lips, a title and utterance that had never been voiced aloud inside of these walls.

"Father, _please_. Just _look_… Can't you see it? She is my _Didyme_."

.

.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Italian **[Thank you, Annalund]

_Signori padroni, il signor Eleazar è arrivato. Richiede un'udienza._ – Masters, Eleazar has arrived. He requests an audience.

**Greek** [Thank you, Anna from Greece]

_Ma tous theous! Ante ston Ath! – Μα τους Θεούς! Άντε στον Άδη!_ – By all the gods! To Hades with you!


	24. A Cry to Heaven, Part Two

**A Cry to Heaven, Part Two**

* * *

The hands of time stilled and the chamber went utterly silent.

In eerie synchrony, all else abandoned, every stunned face slowly turned toward the dais, watching and waiting – for nothing perhaps, or maybe for an explosion the likes of which they had never seen. Even the fire that burned Edward's mind receded, Jane's cruelty doused by unreserved shock.

Forbidden words now hung in the air, reverberating off limestone walls and tiles. There was a certain electricity in the room, a palpable zinging current of anticipation, of not knowing, that made even the strongest and oldest of the Guard feel the sharp edge of apprehension.

For a moment, it was almost as though Marcus hadn't heard Edward's cries at all, as if the pronouncement of his title or _her_ name hadn't reached him in his depths. His expression betrayed nothing, only that of the constant ghost of her absence.

But then, delayed like circuitry had that been frayed and worn from time, a light finally flickered in his dark eyes. They widened and swept from Bella to Aro and Caius and then to Edward's position on the floor at their feet. As if in disbelief, his lips parted and moved, silently forming _her_ name in both benediction and lament.

Like the dark curtain, the present fell away, overtaken by the past. Pale white robes and long, raven-colored hair danced across Marcus's memory, the vision as clear as though it were from yesterday, not from centuries past. High on the cliffs overlooking the crashing waves, she twirled on the balls of her bare feet, spinning in the wind simply because she loved the brush of it against her cheeks. Stretched across her flawless face, Didyme wore a soft, radiant smile and her almond-shaped eyes glittered in the sun as she beckoned him to join her.

On his tongue, she tasted so lush, sweet like the vine-ripened grapes in the fields. When he buried his face in her silken hair, he could smell figs and olive groves and the salt from the sea.

For just a fraction of a second, light shined into the abyss, and Marcus felt sheer, all-consuming _joy_.

As quickly as it appeared, however, the image departed, dissolving into a raging bonfire and curling plum-black smoke. Now, echoing in his ears, her name called yet again, louder, this time a shriek of pain, and it pierced him through and through, shattering the invisible walls he had constructed. Instantly, the knife of grief twisted through his gut, and the great weight of mourning, undampened through the ages, threatened to descend.

Marcus's lids fluttered shut, and a short, harsh puff of air expelled from his stone lungs.

"Father," Edward softly repeated, seeing his creator's face finally come alive, only to suddenly contort in agony. That Marcus had reacted at all, however, gave him hope. Slowly, Edward rose from the floor, looking back to where Bella stood, wide-eyed and shaking. "Please, Marcus. Just look… Only _you_ can understand this. Please, you must look at her, at me. You will see that we're the same."

Seconds stretched into centuries as, stock-still, Edward watched the memories in Marcus's mind vault across time in search of the present. Countless seasons came and went, the decades no more than fleeting moments to his permanence. Plagues ran rampant, kings were crowned, and through ancient crimson eyes, Edward saw the rise and fall of the great human nations.

Abruptly, the images halted, shrinking into a single, narrow window in time. Raven-colored hair gave way to brass and rust, and a pair of emerald eyes, dilated, sick with delirium and fever, stared up at him.

For that night, a century ago, the Volturi had ventured across the ocean, searching for the last remnants of the forbidden newborn armies. A handful of rogue coven leaders had hidden themselves in the northern cities, their blood-letting feasts veiled under the black umbrella of the Great Epidemic.

It was dark and cold outside, and fat flakes of wet snow, blowing down from the lake, fell all around. Perfectly recalled with a clarity only gifted to his kind, Edward could smell the old city, familiar scents that existed only in the shadows of his recollection – of people, of horses, of the baker's on the corner.

Only dimly did Edward remember that night through his own human senses – the frigid burst of air when he had stumbled from the hospital and his mother's deathbed, the pale white face that he had sworn was one of God's angels come to take him home, and then the sudden Hellfire that had spread through his veins.

Now, Edward could hear his own voice, garbled and incoherent and praying to God. The chatter of his teeth sounded so loud in Marcus's vampire ears. Somewhere nearby, there was the low rumble of a sputtering Packard passing by too, but to Marcus, Edward's gurgling heartbeat was loudest of all. It had been weeks since he had feed, and thirst raged, clawing up and down his throat.

He felt warmth splatter across Marcus's face, and then Edward could taste his own blood, sharp and tangy, the sweetness tainted by the disease that would have claimed his life regardless.

More than a hundred years had passed, and Marcus was still unsure exactly why he had stopped drinking the boy that frosty Chicago night – why instead of taking his fill, he had damned him to an existence he was not equipped to suffer.

Perhaps, Marcus thought, it had merely been the tint of Edward's eyes when he had stared up into the night sky, feverish and hallucinating as his life seeped away. Marcus could still remember the rush of astonishment, for the color had been so remarkably similar to _hers _before he had turned her, so verdant and alive, teeming with the power of youth.

Maybe he had stopped because of the softly spoken Latin prayer the boy had uttered as he tried in vain to cross himself when he had sucked down that first draught of sickened blood.

It could have been both of those or neither. Perhaps he had changed the boy in a simple second of weakness, a desire for a companion who knew not of wars and fighting and hate-filled politics. The aftermath spoke volumes, however, for it had been Aro who scooped the boy up once he awoke, fascinated by a talent that rivaled his own. Too lost and despondent to object, Marcus had allowed it.

But never, not since the time of his making, had Edward's lineage been spoken aloud, not by the Guard or Aro or Caius or even Edward himself. He was the accident – an aberration – because the two who sat on the other thrones were too petty and squabbling to share in their reign. He was the unacknowledged _Il Principe_, made by the eldest himself, the first in three thousand years.

_Father,_ Edward had said, desperate and pleading. It sounded so strange and out of place inside of these walls. Such was a human thing, a human tie that was severed once blood was spilled. The word didn't seem to fit inside of his mouth when Marcus tested it.

"Pax," Marcus quietly spoke, his gaze sweeping the chamber. Silently, he uncurled from his throne and floated to the edge of the dais, the tail of his pitch-black robe rippling across the stone.

"Marcus," Aro instantly purred from his right, schooling his mouth into a smile as though nothing at all were amiss. Ever the performer, his clasped hands lifted to his chin in emphasis. "There is no need for your attention here."

Slowly, Marcus's head swiveled, and their ancient, opaque eyes met.

Aro started again, "There is no–"

"Tace! Taedet vocem tuam!"

Wide-eyed, Aro's jaw clamped shut, his teeth audibly clacking as a wave of fury rolled down his spine. If Marcus noted Aro's reaction, however, he gave no indication, nor did he acknowledge the swelling murmurs of disbelief in the ranks.

Turning to Bella, Marcus motioned her forward with a short wave. "Come here, girl."

At first, Bella could only stare, her lips parting in surprise. She wasn't certain what she had expected, but Marcus didn't sound like Aro or Caius. Instead of loud commands or crooning lies, when he addressed her, Marcus's baritone was low and soft. Each word sounded foreign, spoken with careful articulation, as if he were not used to speaking at all. His was an accent she had no hope of placing; he sounded old and exotic, like some remnant held behind a glass cabinet in a museum. Yet at the same time, however, there was no mistaking the expectation of obedience that lurked in that strange cadence.

"Come, Isabella," he softly repeated when she didn't move.

Her knees knocked in fear and there was no hiding the stampede of her heart's beats. Swallowing, Bella ducked her head and crossed the length of the chamber, stopping only when she reached Edward's side. In her periphery, a dozen sets of blood-red eyes were wide and a dozen faces followed her every move. She didn't have to be a mind reader to know that they knew little more than she did regarding their fate.

As soon as she was within arm's reach, Edward pulled Bella to him in a move of instinctual protection. When he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side as closely as physically possible, she leaned against him and her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt. So close, he could feel her body's subtle tremors, and the hammer of her heart seemed to echo inside of his own empty chest. Even here, surrounded by menace and death, gravity was meaningless; instead, she was his center, his north and his south.

From the dais, Marcus watched a scene that could have been from his own past. Apart, their bond appeared no different than any other pair. But when they touched, however, the faint glow that bound vampire to human brightened, intensifying into a pulsing cord of white light. It was blinding almost, so bright that Marcus fought the urge to shield his eyes.

"Her blood sings to you," Marcus murmured, listening to the sing-song whine of blood flowing through Bella's veins. "Yet you resist."

"Yes," Edward breathed, staring into Marcus's thoughts, mesmerized by the physical manifestation of the bond only he could see. "I love her."

"Such hasn't occurred in… many years."

Edward's eyes rose to meet his creator's as he carefully chose his next words. "No, not since you and Didyme."

Just as he opened his mouth to say more, an image blinked in Edward's mind – a fragment of a loose thought or memory – only it was too indistinct to even declare to whom it belonged. Vague and blurry, Edward could only make out the licking tips of a raging fire and the overriding scent of burning sugar and bitter ash.

Edward felt a sudden pulse of anger, and then as if its owner had consciously reined himself in, the image dissolved. Dozens of other thoughts – incredulous and angry at the affront to their quiet Master – blared, too, replacing that strange, too-fleeting glimpse.

_What games you play, you fool boy! _Caius snapped. Through others' eyes, he could see the white-haired vampire's curled fists and quivering frame. _You dare bait one of us… You will burn if I have to tear you apart myself! _

Aro's were much the same, still livid and fuming, although the direction of his fury was two-fold now. Heeling like a rabid dog at his feet, Jane imagined daggers and the fire of Hades. Her wrath, fanatical and vicious, was held by the thinnest of threads.

Yet no fury at all came from Marcus. Instead, as before, Didyme's name evoked a torrent of memories, and again, Edward saw her as Marcus saw her, blinded by never-ending immortal love.

"It's the same for me. I know you see it." Edward paused, gripping Bella as though she would be torn away. "You know that I had no choice. I could steal her life as they commanded no easier than I could stop the rise of the sun."

Moving slowly from Edward to Bella, Marcus's eyes were deep and sorrowful. "And what of you, child? What are your wishes? Do you crave immortality?"

Bella's fingers froze and she took a slow breath to steel her jittering nerves. Not looking away from the ancient one before them, she whispered, "I love him. I will always love him. Now and tomorrow. In this life and in the next one, too, if there is one. There is no alternative for me. If you won't save him – if you won't save us – kill me."

A day ago or three millennia past – Marcus knew not – waves crashed against the steep rocky coast, and gray-winged gulls floated on warm currents of salty air.

"_Will you despise me if I keep you, my love? For I do not know that I can bear it when you depart this world," I murmur. _

_Her heartbeat sounds like the stomp of hooves against the sun-baked roadbed. Yet she does not run or turn from me. Instead, my Didyme looks up into the heavens and then folds into my arms, uncaring of the villagers who damn me and cast their chanting spells. _

"_I will only despise you if you do not," she murmurs, taking my cold face between her burning palms. "Make me like you. The gods wish it so. Give me eternity, Marcus. One lifetime with you is not enough for me." _

"_My mate, my life," I sigh, staggered by the bloom deep within my dead chest. How many years have I wandered this land alone? They matter not, for they brought me here. _

_She hugs her frail, human arms around my waist, holding me so close, so unafraid of the daemon that begs her for her life so that he might live. I could crush her as though she were dust, yet my body is no longer mine to command. My thirst is meaningless, and the poison in my mouth is as dry as the desert sand. Her heat is overwhelming, so inviting. It makes me feel real again and her lips on mine light their own fire beneath my flesh. My bones melt into her as I bask in the only happiness I have ever known. _

"You will turn her?" Marcus quietly asked, his voice hollow and distant.

Edward's head lifted, and hope swelled inside of his chest until he swore that he felt the iron bands of his ribcage crack from its force. His answer came out in a fervent gust of air. "Yes, I swear it."

An earsplitting crash thundered in the room when a throne suddenly hurtled into the far wall, sending a rain of glittering gold debris. In a streaking blur, Caius shot from one end of the dais to the other. "You cannot override this, Marcus!" he snarled. "The law demands that boy's ashes! He is weak and his disobedience is inexcusable. He is a traitor, and you know it!"

There was a split second of absolute silence, a weighted moment where that buzzing electricity humming in the air came to life, morphing into a growing, sentient being. The hair on the back of Bella's neck stood on end and her skin erupted in gooseflesh.

Edward flinched, hearing something she knew not, and abruptly, Bella felt the ground move as they flew backward with blinding quickness. Without warning, shielded by Edward's firm grip, from half the room away, Bella watched Marcus's fist suddenly appear, circling Caius's throat with astounding strength and violence. With a deafening roar, he lifted the white-haired vampire high into the air.

At least in this moment, fueled by _something_ – some words, some memories – gone were the centuries of the eldest's silent apathy and despondency.

"I _am_ the law!" he growled, his eyes blazing. "Or have you forgotten? Have your years ruling at my discretion made you complacent, _Caius?_"

Two dozen screams of shock clamored in Edward's mind, disbelieving of the scene that lay before them. Loyalties warred with loyalties, freezing each man and woman in place. Taken aback, confused, Alec's hold on Alice splintered, and Edward could hear the faint whisper of her thoughts. The pain of being nearly ripped asunder made her incoherent, and when he looked down to the ground, she shook from it. But she still existed.

Buried deep beneath the jumble of racing thoughts, another image unexpectedly flashed, repeating and lingering longer than before. It was a sliver of something hidden away, a seep through the cracks. In this hidden-away memory, there was a nauseating snap – that of vampire bones cleaving in two – and a woman screamed in utter agony. Again, Edward felt the heat of a raging bonfire, smelling soot and cloying ash, mixed with dust and the smell of the sea.

"_Brother_," Aro said, crooning with sickening sweetness. "Calm yourself. We were not aware that you would feel so strongly. Perhaps something can be arranged…"

Marcus slung Caius to the floor and spun on his heel, erupting in another snarl of fury, his teeth, slick, bared, and clacking. "I am not your _brother_, Aro," he seethed. "Do not ever make the mistake of calling me that again. You were changed because _she_ wished it so. Because she couldn't bear losing her brother and I wouldn't tolerate her sorrow. Do not ever forget that. You exist only because of her."

"But all these years…" There was a note of mania in Aro's voice, the sharp edge of twisting sanity.

"Were a mistake," Marcus finished. "I should have never allowed this… We should have left when she asked me the first time... This place – these walls – should have never existed to begin with. Not like this. Not with you children fighting your play wars. _This…" _He waved his hand at the chamber. "This is my mistake."

There was a collective mental gasp in the room. As if released by Marcus's declaration, more images, now bold and vivid, broke through, streaming past Edward's eyes. No longer dim or hidden, they flowed as clearly as though he were right there, standing amongst the trees of a long-since-destroyed primeval forest.

"_You cannot be serious, sister!" I growl, grabbing Didyme's pale wrist, squeezing in anger. _

"_Aro," she spits, glaring. Her dark hair whips in the wind. "You and Caius grow too greedy and too ambitious. I do not wish to live like this – at war, holding hostage the lives of our kind. I do not want to rule! Neither does Marcus."_

"_You do not know what you are saying! You cannot leave! Our kind must be ruled! There will be nothing but bedlam and war if we do not control the savage ones." A loud fracture resounds, bouncing off the trees as her wrist snaps in my grip. _

_Didyme whimpers in pain but then jerks her arm away. "You will regret your actions, brother. As soon as Marcus returns from Memphis. He has promised it so. He goes there to speak with Amun and to settle the boundary dispute before we depart. _

"_Law is required, but avarice rules you. Your time has come to an end… Marcus will strip you both of your authority." _

"_I will not allow him to cede to those Dacian fools!" _

"_You will have no choice. I should have never asked him to spare you… You are wrong for this life. All you see is power and domination. I am ashamed of you."_

_White fabric dances in the wind as Didyme turns her back to walk away. _

Bella felt Edward's entire body stiffen, and his eyes grew wide only to clench shut. She held onto his waist, afraid for what was in front of her eyes but more so of the silent voices only he could hear.

_Before she reaches the edge of the __trees, Caius strikes with lightning speed, grabbing her by the shoulders. _

_They struggle, tumbling end over end, a jumble of sharp teeth and flailing arms. He is stronger than she and more battle trained. Didyme shrieks as he pins her down to the forest floor, yanking her head up. Her throat is open, so delicate and exposed. _

"_Be done with this, Aro! Now, else I shall do it for you."_

"_I told you, dearest sister…" I grate, crouching to look into her angry eyes. "There will be no leaving! There will be no changes. I _will_ rule."_

_The bones shatter so easily when I twist. Hers is the first head I have taken myself. My insides lurch with each roll of it across the ground. But it is done… _

_The heat from the fire is astounding. Her flesh sizzles and pops as we watch her body melt and turn to ash. Burned vampire is all I can smell. I can taste it… _

"You killed her."

The words tumbled out of Edward's mouth before he could stop them. Dazed and reeling, he stared at Aro across the room. Beside him, as though struck, Marcus stopped and turned, his face somehow paler than before.

"You killed Didyme," Edward repeated.

As though by speaking the words aloud, the locks on the vault shattered, and now Edward saw _everything _they had tried to hide.

"It was never the Children of the Moon… It was you, Aro… You and Caius. When Marcus was in Egypt." His brow folded sharply as if he didn't believe the sights he saw in Aro's mind. "You killed her because she threatened to leave the Keep and to take Marcus with her. How well you hid it… I should have seen something before… I–"

"Destroy him!" Aro screeched, waving his arms to the Guard standing by as his worst imaginings came to life. "Take him down now!"

Aro jerked forward as though to attack Edward himself, but instantly, like a shot from a canon, Marcus was there, growling and slamming into him bodily, knocking him down from the dais. Before Aro could rise, the older vampire flew down the steps, tackling him and sending them both careening through one of the thick columns. The floor shook from the force of their collision.

The room instantly erupted in chaos. Stunned, frozen bodies came to life, looking from side to side, making their decisions. Then, as if a storm had cut loose directly overhead, peals of thunder rumbled all around, and the sounds of riving metal tore through the air. Flashes of pale and black whirred all around; for a moment, it was impossible to determine who warred for whom.

From somewhere behind them, appearing seemingly from out of nowhere, Demetri raced past, lithely darting around any who stood in his path. His target drifted by the far wall, already conjuring his black magic at Aro's behest, aimed to take them all out. Not hesitating, Demetri slammed into Alec with incredible force, knocking the boy through stone and mortar.

In the center of the room, Chelsea shrieked under Jane's fury, struggling to stay upright. As she burned Chelsea from within, Jane pummeled and clawed at her flesh, ripping her limbs away.

Edward had no time to react to save her, however, because in his periphery, Caius stalked toward them, ready to spring. Instantly, all else forgotten, Edward spun Bella behind him, forming an unbreakable granite wall.

"You won't touch her, Caius. I swear that I will tear you in two this night," Edward growled.

The two vampires both crouched low, teeth bared, fists curled, ready to strike. In a deadly dance, they slowly circled, each watching the other with laser precision. Caius was older, but Edward was faster. When Caius feinted left, Edward was there. When he darted right, Edward was there again, reading the older vampire's intent just a fraction of a second before he moved.

"You have destroyed everything!" Caius's fists shook and his eyes were the blackest of nights.

"No," Edward purred, edging forward. "You did."

In a blindingly fast move, arms outstretched, teeth bared, Caius launched himself headlong across the space between them. Just when he was within arms' reach, Edward twisted and ducked low, clipping the white-haired vampire at the knees as he came around.

Caius shrieked in pain as his knee socket shattered into a hundred pieces. He fell to the floor only to rise again, limping and snarling like a rabid wolf. Heedless of the risk, he attacked again, sprinting directly for Edward. Unable to dodge the frontal assault, Edward instead shot forward, meeting him head-on. They collided in an earth-shattering boom, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Edward's teeth ripped into Caius's shoulder, tearing away chunks of white flesh. When his fist connected with bone, pulverizing the vampire's sternum, Caius howled, and in a desperate move, he kicked Edward off of him.

Bella watched in horror as Edward skidded across the floor, the stone tiles shredding and rolling up like ripped paper in his wake. Yet before she could scream, he was up again. She dared to blink and suddenly he was back across the room, standing between her and Caius.

Frantically, she looked around, trying to follow the dizzying spin of movement. In the corner, Santiago and Eleazar held each other by the throat, yet she had no idea for which side either fought.

But it was the two in the front of the room that made her stomach lurch.

The two ancients were nothing but shimmers of black fabric moving at breakneck speed. She could hear their snapping teeth and livid snarls. Bones cracked and splintered, and suddenly, one of them – Aro, she thought – bellowed in agony. A mass of dark robes soared through the air, landing on top of a pile of rubble. The other one was there, however, pinning him up against the wall, tearing into his neck with vampire teeth.

"Master!" Jane screamed. Abandoning Chelsea, the witch-girl turned her baleful glare to Marcus.

A harsh sputter of air expelled from his lungs, and Marcus's knees buckled as Jane's fire ripped through his mind, melting his bones from its heat. Yet he refused to fall. Instead, he remained upright, his claws and teeth still digging into Aro's chest. Jane struck again, however, and Aro pushed back, spinning them around until it was Marcus's back to the wall.

"She made you weak!" he hissed. "You would have given it all up… why… because she didn't have the stomach to rule."

"I should have known that it was you," Marcus gasped, fighting through Aro's and Jane's twin assaults. "I allowed you and Caius to rule too long."

"You think you allowed. Volterra is all my doing." Aro's eyes gleamed black and maniacal. "You did nothing. You wasted away, living in your little dream world. She's dead, Marcus. I killed her, just like I'm going to kill you."

Across the room, fear and desperation gripped Bella. On one side, she watched Edward and Caius battling again. On the other, she saw the impending obliteration of their one hope of deliverance. Edward held the upper hand in his fight; he _would _destroy Caius, she was certain. The white-haired vampire was missing a limb now and he panted in pain. But Marcus couldn't fight Aro _and _Jane.

Abruptly, however, something changed. Jane's witchfire ceased and the girl screamed again for her Master, this time in pleading. Bella's gaze tore across the room, sweeping from one end to the other, searching until she landed on a familiar mop of inky hair.

_Alice. _

It felt as though she had been punched in the gut. Believing her to be dead, Bella wasn't prepared for her reappearance. Her clothes were torn and mangled and her face was a mask of uncontrollable ferocity. She looked nothing like the best friend she knew. Now, she looked like the vampire she was. For her eyes were pitch and her lips curled back over her teeth in an inhuman snarl. From across the room, she watched the two girls, small and slender, fight with incomprehensible brutality.

"Your death is mine," Alice chanted.

With a horrifying yell, Alice mindlessly barreled toward the witch girl, seemingly too lost in her need for retribution to care about the consequences.

But she wasn't too lost. Just as Edward listened to Caius's mind, Alice watched Jane's future. When the girl reached for her, Alice leaped upward, landing behind her. When Jane spun, whipping around, Alice was gone again.

Over and over, screeching in livid wrath, Jane's arms wrapped around empty air, incapable of using her power against a target she could not locate. Bella watched with balled-up fists, as Alice turned into streaking arcs of color, bouncing all around Jane as she screamed in frustration.

Suddenly, those screams were cut short by the shrill rending of steel. When Alice appeared again, Bella gasped, because her shoulders were shaking and she was doubled over in obvious pain. Her right arm hung loose, detached almost completely, she limped, and venom leaked from the gaping wounds that littered her skin.

But in her small hand, Alice clutched a severed head.

One by one, vampires either fell or fled. Jane was destroyed. Santiago was nowhere to be found. And in the corner, Eleazar and Demetri held Alec, arms stretched behind him, forced to his knees. The boy didn't resist, instead bowing his head in defeat.

Two pairs still battled, however, and those were the ones that mattered the most.

"Come on, Caius," Edward crooned, his voice low, lethal, and velvety smooth. Extending his hand, he crooked his finger and motioned for attack. "Take me. Or surrender. You have no other choice."

"Never will I surrender to you!" Caius spat. His back was to the tall oaken doors and the dark tunnels beyond.

As if in slow motion, Edward rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, ready for what he knew would come. Softly, he whispered, "Then you die."

In a moment of indecision, Caius glanced back behind him, debating, calculating his chances. He shifted as if to attack, but then without warning, spun and made for the mouth of the doorway. His dark robe dropped from his shoulders, landing on the stone floor in a pool of black.

With unrivaled speed, Edward raced toward the retreating vampire, the soles of his shoes barely touching the ground before leaping high into the air. To Bella's eyes, he was the very image of predatory grace, like a black panther stretching mid-air, targeting his kill.

It looked almost as though he kissed the back of Caius's neck, his razor sharp teeth skimming across the other vampire's flesh. Yet this kiss was loud, and its penetrating shrillness filled the chamber with fearful awe.

Hearing Caius's bellow and the sound of a vampire body being torn asunder, Aro frantically looked around the room as he backed away from Marcus. Stalking toward him, his creator's expression was murderous, and when Aro saw his acolytes' broken bodies, panic seized him. For the first time since his creation, he felt unbridled fear – the fear of the unknown, of death, of eternal fires.

But it wasn't Marcus who arrested him. Aro growled and flailed as from behind him, a pair of steel arms circled him, capturing his arms in a hold he had no hope of breaking. Demetri's knee drove into Aro's spine, and he pushed him to his knees.

When Aro's eyes lifted, he found nothing but the chill of icy revenge awaiting him.

"Edward," Marcus spoke, never looking away from Aro's bowed form. His voice was again low and quiet, but Aro heard more there. He heard his own annihilation. "You will turn your mate?"

Hesitantly approaching the foot of the dais, Bella started, not understanding why Marcus addressed Edward now of all times. But when Edward's arms again surrounded her, holding her up, she no longer cared. She buried her face in his chest, squeezing her arms around his unyielding body, listening to the silence of his unbeating heart. A lone, silent sob spilled from her lips, because while Bella didn't understand what would happen to the Volturi or Aro or anyone else, in Marcus's softly spoken query, she heard _everything_. She heard… salvation.

Just as quietly, Edward answered. "As soon as I'm able I will turn her."

Edward stared at Aro's straining face and heard the rage that still swarmed Marcus's thoughts. "What will you do with Aro?"

Marcus's lips pressed into a hard, grim line. "Aro's fate matters not to you. He is mine to do with as I see fit." He motioned toward Alice, who now sat on the floor against the far wall, curled up with her knees against her chest and shaking silently – finally grieving. "Just as your Alice had her revenge, so shall I have mine."

Edward heard the unspoken and cringed, for Aro's fate would be far worse than all the rest. Echoing his thoughts, in Marcus's ancient opaque eyes, endless, depthless hatred mingled with the sorrow of the ages.

Shoulders folding, Marcus looked out across the chamber. More than a dozen bodies littered the floor, mangled beyond all recognition. The limestone solar, the seat of their power for so many centuries, was now in shambles, broken past repair, and the thrones on which the three rulers had sat were gone, destroyed and shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces. Two were gone. Only one still stood.

"Now, go," Marcus commanded, staring at the glowing cord of light that surrounded Edward and his mate. He offered some semblance of a smile, strange and misplaced after all that had been endured. It was for Bella alone, the living symbol for all that he had gained and lost.

"Your place is no longer here, Edward." He shook his head. "It has _never_ been here. Take your mate and go. Go _home_."

**.**

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**A/N: **

**Regarding the Romanians: **You might have noticed that in the flashback, Aro refers to the Romanians as the _Dacians_. The Dacians were one of the Getae tribes and they lived in the area of present day Romania around the time of that flashback (several hundred years BCE per Herodotus).

**Random OCD author note on language:** The language Marcus, Caius, and Aro would have originally spoken would have probably been Etruscan or something similar (perhaps earlier). It wouldn't have been Latin, as all three vampires pre-date Vulgar Latin by a good thousand years. I take the opinion, however, that considering the various nationalities of the vampires they've ruled through the ages, as well as that of their own Guard, Latin, Vulgar and then Classical, would have been the "official" language inside of the Keep in Volterra for many centuries.

**Latin **[Thank you, Scooterstale and withany for suffering my odd questions]:

_Pax! = Peace! Or Enough!_

_Tace! T__aedet vocem tuam! = Be silent! I am weary of your voice!  
_


	25. Risen from the Ashes

**Epilogue: Risen from the Ashes**

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Eternity was a funeral pyre

Licking flames, hotter than any fire Bella had ever experienced, swept through her limbs in a raging inferno, charring her from the inside out until she was certain that there was nothing but a blackened husk remaining. In ways that her human mind could have never comprehended, the agony was excruciating. Speeding through her veins and scarring every single nerve ending, it was all-consuming, devouring, and it obliterated virtually all notion of sanity or reason. Yet for not one second was she granted the mercy of unconsciousness.

Instead, wide awake with ever heightening senses, Bella did nothing but _feel_. Staring into an unseeing, black abyss, she felt her blood boil and her skin blister. Her heart squeezed inside her chest, rebelling against the hot liquid that seemed to thicken with each beat, and hoarse from hours of screaming, her mouth and throat were now nothing more than smoldering ash.

"_Edward,"_ her mind chanted, clinging to the one image that seemed to lessen the pain, all else having burned away long ago. When she summoned, his face, though blurred and ephemeral, flitted through her awareness like a savior-angel, reminding her that _he_ was waiting – that forever was on the other side of Hell.

For the thousandth time, Edward flinched when he heard her whisper his name against his chest. Each time Bella's lips moved – her voice now pleading and softer with each passing minute and repetition – it was like a bullwhip cracking across his back, splitting his granite flesh and pouring salt upon the gashes. With every tremble of her fragile body, quaking beneath the fiery onslaught, he cursed himself anew for allowing her to suffer this fate, for filling her with pain and his poison.

"Shh," Edward soothed, holding her tighter against his side, kissing her forehead over and over, as his lips shaped the prayers and rites of his mother's long-dead priest. Gently, he slid his icy palms down her cooling cheeks, hoping in vain to assuage the wicked fire within that he remembered all too well. "Soon, Isabella. Not much longer."

Uncaring of the winter-white world outside their small cabin, for three unending days, he'd laid here with her, swaddled with his human mate in blood-stained sheets and counting her heartbeats. Like a mourning widower, as her life slowly faded away, Edward memorized each thump, committing to his perfect vampire recall each echoing open and close of the ventricular valves.

By the final hours of the third day, the small, raised crescent above her breast had sealed, shimmering ever so slightly in the pale moonlight streaming in from the window. Almost matching his, Bella's body temperature had dropped, and when he touched her bare skin, he felt the smoothness of fused pores and crystalline vampire flesh. With each lengthening pause of her heart, Edward inhaled, sucking in the perfume that once drove him to the brink of violence. Only now, he noted, it had shifted. Still flawless and entirely _Bella_ in its essence, her scent was far more vampire than human.

"Soon," Edward whispered, reminding himself this time. Feeling her body shudder again, his empty chest clenched and his eyes stung with nonexistent tears, dreading the end even as he simultaneously rejoiced the beginning. "Forgive me, Bella."

Bella felt it when her heart began to die. Still burning at the stake, lost in blackness and pure, unbridled pain, deep in her awareness, she heard what she could only describe as peals of thunder. They sounded so loud in her ears, resounding rumbles that rattled her bones. Each time the thunder rolled, the fire rose to new heights and her chest stretched, swelling until she swore that her ribcage had fractured. Yet some part of her leapt in anticipation, gritting against the pain, because somehow she _knew_ that the end was near.

For the last remaining hours, the beats grew more and more feeble, softer, barely distinguished by even vampire ears, and dragging as though time were slowing. When the pause between them turned into minutes, Bella's spine arched and her fingers wound around the sheets. It was as though her body refused to accept defeat. Silently pleading, Edward kissed her quivering lips and placed his palm over her chest, absorbing the shock of those final pulses.

When Edward closed his eyes, an image of his creator passed behind his closed lids – the final, parting scene in Volterra. Endless sadness and violent rage warred on Marcus's ancient face. Yet as he surveyed the destruction of the Keep and the traitorous progeny kneeling at his feet, there had been something else in those opaque eyes.

Regret, maybe. For what, even with his gift for minds, Edward didn't know. Maybe it was for not listening to his mate's pleas to depart, or maybe it was for Aro's very creation. It could have been remorse for centuries of silent acceptance and apathetic consent. Or perhaps, it was for none of that, or maybe for it all.

Edward didn't know what would become of their kind – whether the Romanians would attempt another coup, or if Marcus would again choose to assume his rightful place. With Demetri and Eleazar and a heeled Alec, there was enough strength in the Guard to buttress his rule. But it would be different now, of that Edward was certain.

Alice had told him that much. Before she had raced away from the ancient city, heading off into the vast unknown to mourn her Jasper, he'd seen the tumult of what lay in store. Only a handful of images remained constant in her eyes, and those centered solely on Bella, the Cullens, and himself. She had yet to decide her own fate – if she would choose to follow her mate into oblivion or linger here without him.

Regardless of their shifting world and all the changes and uncertainty, however, all Edward could think or feel was profound gratitude. For in spite of nearly impossible odds, they were now free – her saved and him pardoned – to live as long as the earth spun on its axis. And as long as she existed and breathed and loved, for Edward, that was all that mattered. She _was_ home and hope and life and love. She was everything.

Inside their small cabin buried deep in the arctic, with a final resounding thump, Bella's heart beat its last, and the transforming fire extinguished, leaving behind a subtle burn in the back of her throat. Fluttering against the blinding light, her newborn eyes opened to immortal life, seeing everything all at once.

But most of all, it was his face she saw. She saw Edward as he was truly meant to be seen, no longer dark and brooding, weighed down by a century of remorse and loneliness, but radiant and smiling and _jubilant_.

Outside, as if in announcement or proclamation, the sun broke through the tree line and roared across the empty sky, its light consuming the remnants of the darkest night.

**. **

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_**Finis**_

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**Thank you for reading!**


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